Skirmish Brothers
by Blood Dark Sun
Summary: Adventure and friendship with Prussia, Denmark, & Romano. Rated T for language and suggestion. Later chapters have England as well. "Love in the Modern World" runs concurrently with this, and is more focused on their love lives.
1. Boxers vs Briefs

_"Skirmish Brothers" is the winner of Best Anthology for the 2014 Hetalia Awards! Thanks to everyone who voted for it._

...

**Boxers vs. Briefs.**

"I have an awesome idea."

"Who cares_,_" Romano murmured, not stirring.

"Oh, just because you never come up with any ideas for pranks—"

"Just shut the fuck up."

Denmark agreed. "You talk too much, Prussia."

Poke.

Swat.

"_Scheisse_. You two are no fun today. Right, Gilbird?"

The three friends lay in the shade of a spreading oak tree. The day was too hot, and what had started as a prank-planning session had degenerated into a siesta of sorts. None of them was tired enough to fall asleep, but they were all too lazy to fully wake up.

Prussia was the most alert of the three. Wearing only his favorite awesome black boxers, sitting with his back to the tree trunk, he made soft cheeping noises to his bird periodically, when not throwing out random suggestions for activities that required entirely too much moving around. He looked at Denmark, usually such an ace planner, with irritation – the Dane was half asleep, clad in a white tee and red boxers with little hearts on them. Now _that_ had surprised both Prussia and Romano, who'd turned as red as the boxers, then looked quickly away when Denmark began laughing hysterically at his expression. Denmark lay on his stomach and kept idly trying to poke Prussia's leg with his big toe. Prussia swatted his foot away again and looked at Romano.

Of course Romano was not laid-back enough to take his pants off in front of the other two. He had removed his shirt, though, complaining of the heat, and now lay on his back, arm thrown over his eyes, breathing deeply as he unsuccessfully sought sleep.

Denmark threw an acorn at Prussia. Prussia fielded it and threw it back. "Stop that."

Poke.

Swat.

"Seriously, stop a minute," Prussia said. "I'm having an idea."

"Dammit, not another one," Romano moaned, not looking up. "Just let me _rest."_

Prussia's eyes narrowed and his evil grin grew. Then he launched himself at Romano, pinning the Italian to the ground amidst a flurry of cursing and thrashing. Gilbird cheeped in panic and flew into the oak tree.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Denmark rolled over to watch.

"Kesesese, the awesome me is trying to bring a little excitement into our afternoon." He kept Romano subdued by sitting on his stomach and holding his wrists, feet hooked back over Romano's thighs, before turning to Denmark. "Don't you think he needs to be a little more involved?"

"I'm plenty involved, you damn bastard! Get _off_ me!" Romano struggled – or tried to – but Prussia was unrelenting. "_Chigi!"_ While Denmark sat back and laughed at this sight, Prussia suddenly leaned forward. Alarmed, the brunet stopped rebelling – he didn't want to break his nose on the bastard's head, dammit – and when the albino's forehead softly touched his…"Wh-what are you doing?" he stammered.

"Calm down," Prussia cooed. "Seriously, Romano, you're so…I don't know…what the hell is he, Den?"

"Aloof?" suggested Denmark with a grin. "I have no idea where you're going with this, but it sounds like fun." He sat up to watch more attentively.

"What the hell, 'aloof' is as good as any other word. The thing is, Romano…you hang out with us, and you play along with our pranks, but…I'm not convinced that you really like to be with us. And, I mean, I'm awesome and all, so you should really be much more excited about being with me. Uh, and Denmark," he added.

"I-I- Well, if I didn't like hanging out with you bastards," Romano demanded, frowning, looking over to see Denmark's reaction, "why would I do it?"

Prussia leaned back again, and Romano's hysteria begin to abate. The ex-nation smirked at him. "You awesomely mean it, do you?"

"Of-of course I do. I don't tell lies, dammit!" Romano glared at Prussia, but didn't start struggling again.

"Now, come on, you two. This is really not fair." Denmark stood up and walked over until he was standing behind Romano's head. "Let me join in."

Prussia grinned, leaned back, and drew Romano into a sitting position. Denmark sat down behind the half-nation and slid his arms around the warm, bare waist. "Ah, so nice," he continued, resting his cheek on Romano's head.

"Wh-what? What the hell? Is this some sort of stupid prank?" Romano's irritation escalated again and he tried to break free of Denmark's embrace. Of course this was nearly impossible, given the tall Dane's strength.

"Listen, Romano…you see, Denmark and I – we both really like you a lot."

"Yes, we do," Den murmured. Romano could hear the grin in his voice. "You're a lot of fun, very—cooperative."

"Most of the time. But we want you to relax when you're with us."

"How the hell can I relax if you keep jumping on me?"

"But jumping on you was the only way to get your attention!" Prussia explained. "Now, stop struggling."

Romano did as he was told, with a sigh of exasperation.

"Now, look into my eyes."

Again, Romano complied. Denmark did too. He rested his chin on top of Romano's head.

"Now…take off your pants."

"What the – !" Unfortunately for Prussia, he'd slackened his control somewhat, and Romano was able to kick him backwards. Den continued holding Romano, whooping with laughter. "Why the hell do you want me to take my pants off?" the brunet demanded.

The albino shrugged and crawled back to sit next to his friends. "Isn't it obvious? You never relax enough to take your pants off. Denmark and I are always comfortable stripping down in front of you, but you…you never loosen up. I just want to, to _equalize _things."

"Yep. And I bet he wants to see what kind of underwear you wear," Denmark snickered.

"That's why you're doing this?" Romano replied. "You want to see my underwear?"

Both the other nations nodded. "I bet it's black silk bikini briefs," Prussia added. "That just seems so you_._" This made Den laugh again.

"Wait a minute. You idiots have _discussed_ this? Making me taking my pants off? How long have you been planning this, anyway? You creepy bastards, I'm going to kill you!" Amber eyes bored into crimson; Romano's fists and heels started drumming the ground again and he rocked from side to side, trying to break away from Denmark. It still didn't work.

"We never talked about it. I just thought this would liven up the afternoon. We weren't really doing anything, anyway."

"And I have been curious about your underwear, too, Romano," Denmark admitted. "Come on, show us." He began stroking Romano's hair calmly and grinned across him at Prussia, eyebrows raised.

_Oh, for fuck's sake,_ Romano thought. "Well, you'll have to wait until another day." He sank back into Denmark's strong embrace. "I'm not wearing any."

Hard to say what was more gratifying: the way Den's arms and hands suddenly went deathly still, or the flaming blush that instantly spread up Prussia's cheeks. Romano closed his eyes and smirked. _Take that, bastards._


	2. We Need a Name

**We Need a Name.**

Autumn; the weather was cooler. The three friends lay under their oak tree, but fully-dressed this time, with jackets on.

"We need a name."

"A name for what?" Romano tried feeding plucked grass to Gilbird, but the bird was clearly not interested. It flew up to perch on his head. He sighed.

"Yes!" Prussia leaped to his feet in excitement. "Great idea, Denmark. Yes, yes, we need an awesome team name. Something like, Murderous Blood Brothers."

Romano boggled. "You can _not_ be serious, you idiot. That's a ridiculous name."

"Yeah, Prussia, it needs to have something about drinking in it!"

"No, something tough, like killing. How about the Killing Machines?"

"I'm a lover, not a fighter, bastard. Your ideas are so self-centered."

Denmark sat up straighter. "All right, why don't we combine one thing from each of us? Something sexy, something tough, and something about drinking?"

There was a pause while they thought.

"How about…The Fighting…"

"…Fucking…"

"…Boozers?"

A bead of pure silence hung in the air, and then all three of them collapsed in hysterics. Gilbird flew to a safe distance, cheeping in merriment.

Several minutes later they calmed down. "Ah, that was hilarious," Romano said, wiping the tears from his eyes.

"I'll say. I love hanging out with you two. Nobody else makes me laugh like this."

"Of course you do, Denmark, we're awesome."

"You know," Romano mused, "I'm surprised you didn't want to put 'awesome' in the name."

"Yes, we should! The Awesome Killing Team!"

This led to a brief struggle where Romano tried to punch Prussia and tripped over a tree root instead. Strategic genius Prussia immediately sat on his stomach and pinned him to the ground.

"See how awesome I am?"

Denmark laughed. "Yeah, so awesome. Everyone can see it. Now come on, let's focus on the name."

"And get off me, you, you fucking 'awesome killing machine'!" Romano tried to maintain an angry face, but snorted again as he tried to push Prussia off him.

Prussia moved off and Romano sat up, panting a little, still laughing.

"Right, well, listen. Are we talking about a secret name or something the rest of the world will know about? Like those idiots in the Bad Touch Trio?"

Whoops. Romano had forgotten Prussia was part of the BTT.

When they were finished scuffling, Prussia had a nice bruise on his cheekbone and Romano's clothes were disheveled and torn.

"Again I must point out that you two keep having fun without me," Denmark said, and with no further preamble he jumped on Prussia, laughing, and started pummeling him.

"What the - ? Denmark, what the fuck?" Prussia fought back, but Denmark easily subdued him and sat on _his_ stomach. Romano backed away, amused. "Get off, you-oof!" Prussia kept pushing; Denmark kept grinning. "_Off_!"

"Nope. I never get to sit on anyone, and I'd squash Romano if I sat on him. Now focus. Are we going to make up a name or not?"

"Yes, we should have a name," Romano affirmed. "Definitely something about fighting, since we never seem to hang out without a fight."

"And something sexy, since we're all hotter than hell," Denmark added cheerfully, tickling Prussia's exposed belly.

Both of them looked at Prussia, who had finally stopped squirming under Denmark.

"Does it really have to be about drinking?" he asked. "Sure, we all drink a lot, but you know, we almost never drink _together._ This name should be about what we do when we're together."

"Well, we could start drinking more often," Romano offered with a snort.

"Ah, no, we don't really need booze in the name," Denmark agreed. "But still."

"The Sexy Pranksters."

Romano threw an acorn at Prussia.

"Hey, don't hit a nation when he's down! _You_ come up with something!"

"The, the…the Hot, Strong…?"

"Coffee?" Denmark laughed. "I love hot, strong coffee!"

Prussia finally succeeded in pushing Denmark off. "Scheisse, you two are ridiculous. Hot strong coffee, my ass."

"I could use a cup of coffee, though," Romano admitted.

Denmark jumped up. "OK, let's go get some! Come on, Prussia." He dragged the albino to his feet.

"I can't believe this!" Prussia shouted. "You two have the absolute _worst_ focus of anyone I've ever met!"

"Oh, shut up, _please. _You're right, you're awesome, you have the best focus ever, the best strategy, the cutest bird, blah, blah, blah, OK?" Romano stomped off towards the coffee shop.

"Yeah, and you're clearly so far above us that Romano and I shouldn't even hope to be seen with the awesome you, yeah?"

Prussia madly ruffled his white hair. "Oh, shut up. I didn't mean it like that."

"Yeah, I know." Denmark put his arm around the albino's shoulders and they walked off after Romano.

"Come on, Gilbird."

"Cheep!"

…

Several cups of coffee later, the establishment had kicked them out, because Prussia was bouncing off the walls. Numerous team names had been tossed around, but of course nobody was happy with any of them. Gilbird rode on Denmark's head.

"I've seen people who can't handle their booze, Prussia, but you're the first I've ever seen who can't handle a few cups of coffee."

"Yeah, how are we going to factor _that_ into the name? Two Hot Strong Coffee-Drinkers and One Weak Idiot?"

Prussia immediately put Romano in a headlock.

"Ow, ow, OK, sorry, come on, let go, you moron."

"How about 'Sauced on Coffee'?"

The other two stopped in their tracks and stared at Denmark. Prussia's arm let go of Romano and fell limply to his side. "Huh?"

"What? It was just a joke."

"No, no," Prussia said, with a mischievous gleam in his eye that Denmark couldn't see – but Romano could. He backed away to watch as Prussia continued. "Sauced on Coffee. I kind of like it. It's, well, it's _stupid, without making any sense at all! _Kesesese~ !_"_ He turned and punched Denmark on the arm.

Denmark easily put Prussia in a headlock, laughing. "You're an ass, Prussia."

"'Sauced' isn't even a word, damn you," Prussia grunted.

While they were struggling, Romano nonchalantly repeated, "_Definitely_ something about fighting."

"Shut up unless you want a piece of me too!" Prussia shouted, kicking Denmark in the shin. "Augh, what is it with you two! Did you decide to gang up on me today?"

"Hey, it's not us, it's you, Sauce-boy," Denmark laughed. "You're the one who can't handle his caffeine."

Prussia simply growled at this and stalked ahead of them, scrubbing his hands through his hair again.

"The Overcaffeinated Sexy Brawlers?" Denmark offered loudly.

Romano laughed; Prussia tried not to. He wanted to nurse his sulk. Gilbird perched on his head.

"Argh, let's just drop it for now. Let's go to the beach or something." Romano looked around to get his bearings.

"It's too cold for the beach," Prussia pouted, but Denmark got a distant, speculative look in his eye.

"Romano," he started, artlessly, looking everywhere but at Romano's face, "if we go to the beach, will you—"

"Oh, _yes_!" Prussia yelled, turning back and grabbing Romano's arm. "You have to show us your underwear!"

Passersby began walking—and running – quickly away from the three, not even pretending to be nonchalant about it.

"Argh, not that again, dammit. Let go!" Romano struggled, trying to free his arm, and looked around at the fleeing populace.

To his surprise Prussia started blushing, though he didn't let go of Romano's arm. "Unless you – you know, if you're – uh – still – uh - "

Denmark cleared his throat. "You mean, did he go commando today?" Now all three of them were blushing, not looking at each other.

"I'm not going to the beach, dammit," Romano finally barked, ripping his arm out of Prussia's grasp and stomping ahead. "It's too cold." His face was flaming red. His friends hurried to catch up.

"OK, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." Denmark put a hand on Romano's shoulder. "I just thought it would be funny."

"Yeah, yeah, everything's funny to you, isn't it, bastard?" Romano's face was irritated, but Denmark could tell he wasn't really mad. He stepped up to Romano's right side and slung an arm around the Italian's shoulders. Prussia came up on the left and did the same. Romano didn't shrug them off, so the three of them walked in silence for a little while.

…

"Well, as long as it's nothing stupid like the Awesome Friends of Prussia or anything like that, we really should be able to come up with _something_."

"Awesome Friends of Prussia, that's a good one, Romano! You _are_ an awesome friend."

Romano growled. "Keep talking like that and you'll find out I can be a dangerous friend."

"Dangerous."

Prussia and Romano both turned to Denmark. "What?" Prussia asked. "Dangerous what?"

"We're dangerous. Right?"

They considered this. "We, we _could be_ dangerous," Romano admitted. "You probably are. I'm not, not entirely dangerous all by myself." He looked down at his feet, embarrassed.

"Oh, come on! You're awesomely dangerous. Anytime we talk about your underwear—"

Romano leaned over and socked Prussia right in the nose.

When Prussia had calmed down, he said softly, "See? You're damned dangerous, Romano." The Italian simply caressed the albino's hair idly in acknowledgement, in apology, before turning to their taller friend.

"Are _you_ dangerous, Den?"

"He sat on me! Of course he's dangerous! Overbearing, coffee-drinking—" Prussia started, before Denmark clapped his hand over Prussia's mouth.

"Careful, my albino friend, you're in a very vulnerable position! You don't want a _broken_ nose, do you? Or, or, anything _else_ injured?" He grinned significantly.

Prussia shook his head.

"All right, then." Denmark removed his hand. "Yes, I am quite dangerous! If anybody tries to mess with my friends, they'll see just how dangerous I can be. I don't carry that axe around for nothing." He paused. "I mean, I'm not carrying it around today, but you know what I mean."

A moment of silence while the other two considered Denmark's massive axe.

"The Dangerous, Axe-Wielding—"

"Don't be stupid, Prussia, I'm not going to start carrying an axe around!"

"Yeah, you probably couldn't lift one!"

Denmark pushed his hand into Romano's face before the Italian could attack again. "Calm down…please? I can't be separating you two all day."

"I _would_ calm down if he would just shut up with the damn insults," Romano grumbled. "Just because Prussia was such a fucking mighty military power…"

"Hey, you admitted it! You rock, Romano. Give me a kiss."

"Wha - ? What are you, nuts? No."

"Well, what, then?"

"Temperamental Bastards, maybe," Romano suggested.

"_I'm_ not temperamental. Just Prussia."

"Romano's damn temperamental, too!"

"Cheh, why wouldn't I be, dealing with you?"

"Argumentative Bastards!"

"The lame-ass losers, is more like it."

"Aw, come on! It has 'bastards' in it! That's one of your favorite words!"

"Not for you to use, albino potato."

"Geez, how fucking inept can we be?" This was followed by a groan from Denmark. "We've been talking about this _all damn day._"

"Well, a truly awesome team name doesn't just float out of the ether, you know."

"The Inept Idiots."

"You including yourself in that, Romano? Kesesese~!"

Oh yeah. Romano facepalmed.

"Hey," Denmark realized, "You guys know we haven't eaten at all today? Just that coffee. Although it was good coffee."

"No wonder we're all acting so stupid. Come back to my place; I'll make pasta."

"Pastaaa!" squealed Prussia, jumping in the air joyously in a passable imitation of Veneziano.

"Chigi! It's bad enough I have to listen to my damn brother do that. Don't."

…

"That was delicious." Denmark burped discreetly. "I don't eat a lot of pasta, but I can safely say that I never had pasta that good before."

"Damn right," Romano smirked. "But, next time, I, I wanna try some Danish food. I don't know anything about it at all."

"Danish food is pretty good. But German food is better!"

This earned Prussia a fava bean to the forehead…or would have, if Prussia's interception skills hadn't been so effective. He ate it, smirking at Romano.

After the three had cleaned the kitchen they moved to the living room. "Should we light a fire? It's not really fire weather yet, but…" Romano hovered over the copper firewood tub.

"I love fire," sighed Prussia, in a surprisingly soft voice. "It's so mysterious."

"Yes, Romano, let's have a mysterious fire."

So Romano built up the fire while Prussia and Denmark lolled around on the floor, discussing various historically-important fires. By the time the fire had been started, they'd agreed that Russia (creepy though he was) had the most impressive fire record, by setting Moscow alight to deny Napoleon and his troops any chance of quarter. "Ballsy," Prussia called it. "Plus it showed that idiot France what for."

Romano snorted. "I thought he was your friend?"

"He is, but he's still an idiot!"

The Italian finished with the fire and sat on the other side of Denmark. "There, that should do it."

"We had a great day today, didn't we?" Denmark stretched out full-length on his back and stared at the ceiling, feeling the fire's heat on the top of his head. "Even though we didn't pick a name."

Prussia, in a drowsy voice, lying on his stomach and staring into the flames, said, "Don't worry. We'll think of something. After all, we are awesome."

"And sexy."

"_And fighters_."

"The Awesome Sexy Fighters?"

Nobody dignified that with a response. The room stayed quiet for a few minutes until Denmark rolled over to stare into the fire.

"Cozy," he murmured.

"Cozy? That's not part of a good name."

"But it is cozy here," Romano agreed. "Safe and warm." He snuggled against Denmark involuntarily. When he realized what he was doing, he started to pull away, but then realized he had nothing to fear from his northern friend. Denmark was broad and warm and strong, and it was very comforting to lie next to him.

"Mmm. The Cozy Fighting Hotties."

Well, nobody was able to lie there and be cozy after an idiotic remark like that! Romano elbowed him in the ribs and Prussia swatted ineffectually at his face.

"Not - not hotties, you idiot. That's really embarrassing."

"Yeah. And cozy is incompatible with awesome."

"OK. We'll save the cozy stuff for when we're alone."

Some more time passed while they thought and dozed. "Mm, hey Romano, do you mind if we stay here tonight? In front of the fire? It's so nice," Prussia sighed. "Home's such a long way away, too."

"Sure, stay as long as you want, idiot. Want some blankets?"

"Yes, please!" the other two chorused.

Romano struggled up and came back with an armful of blankets and pillows. "Knock yourselves out," he said, and threw a few more logs on the fire.

"Oh, but you're not going to go to bed and leave us here all alone?" Prussia gave Romano a very sweet smile.

"Nah, but I'm not sleeping next to you, you dangerous fucking bastard." He nudged Denmark into the center of the room with his foot, plumped out his pillow and settled in.

"Dangerous Fucking Bastards is no good. People will think it's risky to have sex with us." Prussia snickered.

"Maybe it is, with you!"

"Maybe Den and I should be Dangerous Bastards and you can go home and whine about your 'awesomeness.'" They could all _hear_ the air quotes clicking into place around that word.

"You know you love me, Romano," Prussia retorted. Romano just snorted.

Some more silence, some more relaxing.

"How about the Skirmish Brothers?"

"Hey, I kind of like that. Short and to the point. Skirmish Brothers."

"Sounds a bit girly," Prussia argued. Before Romano and Denmark mustered enough energy to jump him, he yawned and added, "But it'll do." A pause. More quietly: "It would be cool to have you two as brothers."

"OK!" Denmark's eyes gleamed and he reached out an arm to either side to embrace his new brothers. "Good night, my new Skirmish Brothers."

Romano closed his eyes. "Good night."

"Yeah. Good night, my awesome friends."


	3. Mind Over Matter

**Mind over Matter.**

"Come on, you guys, quit fighting!" Denmark pushed his friends apart. "Just because we always fight is no reason we have to always fight."

"What?" Romano was seriously baffled by that sentence; Prussia just laughed and gave up.

"Fine, then, whatever. Are we going to this convention center or what?"

"Well, before we go, I _have_ been wondering something." They were sitting under the oak tree; it was a really nice spring day. The three friends had invited England to join them for their day at the Messecenter, but he was busy all day and would only be joining them later, at dinnertime.

"I always worry when you start talking this way," Romano said. "Like you have some crazy idea you're trying to goad us into."

Den laughed. "Today, you're right! Here's my idea. See, you're always swearing, and Prussia's always fighting. I thought it would be interesting to make a bet to see if we could all get through the day without _any_ cursing or fighting! All the way to dinnertime, and then when England meets up with us, we can go back to normal. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Da—that'd be nuts, Den," Prussia laughed.

"What, are you saying you couldn't handle it, albino potato?"

"He—heck, yeah, I could! But you can't fight with me." He turned to Denmark. "Can I say 'heck'?"

Denmark laughed; he'd known they wouldn't back down from a challenge like this. "Sure, 'heck' is all right. No physical fighting; none of your foul-mouth stuff, Romano."

"I can do it. Watch me, ba—uh, you guys." His friends laughed at him and he blushed.

"What are we betting?"

"Loser buys dinner?" They all considered this; it seemed reasonable.

"It has to be a nice dinner. Not something fancy, but not food court sh—garbage," Romano pointed out.

"Yes, yes, I agree. Do you agree, Den?"

"Agreed." The friends all shook hands with each other and moved off to the convention center.

"What if we all win?" Prussia suddenly asked.

"Cheh, like _that's_ going to happen."

…

The place was bustling. "Hey, can we get some coffee? I didn't get any today because I was in such a hurry to meet you—_guys_."

"Aww, you're so sweet, Romano. Yes, Den, let's buy the dangerous fu—ba—uh, what the he-, what the _heck_, let's get some—coffee!" Prussia stamped his foot and rubbed his hands through his hair. "This is going to be a lot harder than I thought. Maybe I should just keep my mouth shut all day."

"Hmm, you do that, and dinner's on me!" Denmark grinned.

"Yeah, why don't you just cave in right now, ba—albino potato?"

"I don't have any money! I can't afford to lose!" Both his friends laughed at that.

"I think Den is going to win either way, da—uh, yeah. He almost never swears _or_ fights."

"Unless he's been drinking. He's a lot more vulgar then."

"We really need to go drinking together one of these days. And bring England, too," Denmark suggested.

"Shame he couldn't come with us today. What kind of work's he doing, Romano?"

"Some stupid workshop to prepare for an upcoming meeting. Apparently this was the only day he and America could both get together."

Prussia whistled. "Ooh, he's with _America?_ And you're not _concerned_?" He leaned over to tickle Romano under the chin; the Italian turned away with a frown.

"Why should he be concerned?" Denmark asked. "It's not like America has any interest in England."

"Da—oh, sh-, Den, that's so fu—so _harsh_!" Romano almost kicked his tall friend in anger before remembering the terms of the bet; he kicked the wall instead, then turned away and shoved his hands in his pockets. "Shut up!"

"Hey, I'm just stating a fact, all right? Not trying to insult my good friend England."

Romano may or may not have muttered "bastard" under his breath at this point but neither of the others could be sure. He hunched his shoulders under his thin spring jacket. "Come on; let's just walk, all right? Let's not talk about England."

"Ooh," Prussia started.

"Don't goad him, Prussia," Denmark cautioned. "Not about that." They followed Romano down a hallway.

…

"Son of a-, ah, well, that's a really _big_ stadium!" Romano gaped.

"Of course it is, this place is _great_."

"It's not _that_ great. The Republikpalast was better."

"But the Republikpalast is _gone," _Den pointed out, laughing. "So great, they tore it down. Besides, it didn't have a stadium."

"Shut up, you Nordic — idiot." Prussia beamed after successfully navigating that one.

"Cheh, you're both idiots. Are we going to watch this game or move on?"

"Let's hang out for a while. Come on, Den."

The three of them found reasonable seats and parked it, proceeding to ignore the game entirely.

"You guys are doing really well! I'm so proud of you." Denmark wrapped an arm around each of their shoulders and hugged. "I didn't think we'd make it this long."

"You really think I'm that bad?"

"Romano, all you _ever do_ is swear! Of course we thought you'd have blown it by now."

"You're lucky Den's sitting in between us, albino potato, or I'd punch you in the nose."

"Yeah, and then I'd _still_ win! Kesesese~!" he cackled.

Romano put his head in his hands. "You may be right, Denmark. If he doesn't shut up, I'm either going to pop him one, or lose control over my mouth."

"Hang in there." Den put his strong hand on Romano's shoulder. "You can do it. Just save it up for later!"

"Why do you even care about this? I mean, you're no prude, and you like to fight, so, what's the problem?"

"Just an intellectual exercise. See if it can be done, that's all."

"Intellectual, cheh, might as well leave Prussia out of it, then."

"Da—argh!" Prussia punched the bench. "Stop _taunting_ me!"

"Well, then you can't taunt me, ba—albino potato."

An evil glint appeared in the Italian's eyes, and Prussia leaned forward to see what was going on.

"All right," Romano continued, very slowly, "I won't taunt you, Prussia, my dear friend." He looked at the albino and raised an eyebrow.

Prussia grinned. "And I won't goad you, dearest Romano." They reached out and shook hands solemnly in front of Denmark, who was now looking decidedly worried. This kind of harmony between these two could only mean trouble.

…

"So, Denmark," Romano asked artificially, as they left the stadium, "will you give me a piggyback ride? I'm getting tired." Before Den could answer, Romano jumped up on his back, and the Dane had to comply or else let him fall. From his new perch, the brunet grinned down at Prussia, who pinched Denmark's cheek.

"You're such a good friend, Den. You guys look so fu—so cute together that way."

"Argh, this is stupid. Why am I carrying you, Romano?"

"I'm tired, that's all. And you're so _strong_ and _powerful._" He poked Denmark in the shoulder; Prussia started laughing. "Take me for more coffee." Romano pointed down a hallway and they moved off.

"Hey, Romano. Tell me if you don't think Den uses too much hair gel."

"What? Don't play with my hair!"

But of course Romano checked it. "Nah, seems OK, seems like he just has really thick hair." He pulled on it a little bit while being carried down the hallway.

"Hey, pulling my hair is like fighting, you know!"

"No. I was just teasing, but I'll stop."

"What I think we need is not actually coffee," Prussia argued, "but ice cream."

"Ice cream!" The Dane's eyes lit up. "Oh, yes, my friend, ice cream."

"Coffee!" Romano pleaded, but in vain. They turned towards the ice cream stalls. "Denmark! I want my fu—my coffee!"

"Whyn'cha get coffee ice cream? It's good! I had some at Den's house last time. Coffee ice cream with chocolate cookies mashed into it…awesome, absolutely _awesome~_."

"That sounds really gross…but, yeah, I can at least try it. Thanks, Prussia, you're a real sweetheart."

Prussia grinned up at Romano, who leaned down to ruffle the white hair, and Denmark started to get worried again.

When they reached the ice cream stand, Romano slid down off his friend. Prussia got his ice cream and stood next to Denmark.

"Hey, Den, want to _share my ice cream~?_" The albino licked his ice cream, then his lips, extending the cone to his boyfriend.

"Not in public!" Denmark hissed. Prussia just mashed the ice cream into his lips.

"Da-!" Now Denmark understood. They were going to gang up on him and make him cave in, first. "Oh, no you don't," he laughed. "You're not going to get away with _that._"

"Bet we _do~," _Prussia sang out. "I make a further bet that _you_ are going to lose, my awesome friend."

"I refuse to take such a stupid bet," Den said haughtily, and Prussia mashed his ice cream into his face again, cackling.

"Prussia, you son of a—_argh_! This is going to get really old, really fast."

"It's easy enough to stop it, just swear or hit me…uh, just swear or hit Romano, and then we can be done."

"No."

Romano sighed. "Just – let's move on, all right? The ice cream is great, now let's go look at something else."

"There's an art exhibition down this way," Prussia pointed out.

So they went to look at the art exhibition.

…

Later, after a fairly tense hour in the arcade, they relaxed outside in the fresh spring air. "This day hasn't been half bad," was Romano's opinion.

"Yeah! Even the fake swearing is pretty funny."

"It had better continue to be pretty funny, or dinner's on you, potato brain."

"You realize we're going to have to eat Danish food, yes?" Denmark was pleased at this.

"Well, I did say I wanted to try it. I'm game, at least the first time."

"Hey, that's so not awesome. You _hate_ German food."

"No, I _hate Germans._" Romano calmly stuck his tongue out at Prussia.

"Aw, no you don't. You know you love me."

"You always say that, and you have no evidence at all to back it up. Where do you get this stupid idea?"

"Because I'm awesome! Everybody loves me! Kesesese!"

"Denmark, can you please deal with him? I can't take this right now." Romano lay back on the grass and closed his eyes.

"Too bad the weather isn't hotter," Denmark idly offered, smirking down at Romano.

"Why?" Prussia was getting a little suspicious, until he saw that Romano's shirt had come untucked. "Aha."

"Put a sock in it, blondie," the Italian growled without opening his eyes.

"I don't have a spare sock, but I could put my hat in it, if you want!" Den grabbed Romano's belt buckle and they started struggling.

"Chigi! Doesn't this count as fighting? Get off me, stop!"

Denmark let go. "It does count as fighting," said Prussia decisively. "I vote that Den loses. End of game."

"No vote. Here, you sit in the middle; you and Romano are so—_cozy_ today." Denmark and Prussia switched seats.

"So, what kind of underwear _are_ you wearing, Romano?" Prussia leaned over and tickled his friend's nose with a blade of grass.

"Purple spandex bikinis with little gold butterflies" was the irate answer. "Leave me _alone!_ If you make me punch you, it's your fault, and you're buying dinner."

"No, if you punch him, it's your own fault." Safe from his seat on the other side of Prussia, Denmark offered this sage wisdom.

"Just keep your hands off me, Prussia." Then he turned to look at the albino and jerked his head towards Den. "Get to work. Show me some of your awesome strategic techniques."

Prussia lost himself in thought for a few minutes. "Does flinging acorns at him count as me fighting?"

"Yes!" the other two snapped.

"Schei—oh, _argh_," he growled, drumming his heels into the ground, "I can't do anything strategic without fighting!"

"Figures," Romano scoffed, while Denmark merely looked relieved.

…

Half an hour later they'd finally stopped bickering and settled down to relax.

"Hey, gits, what are you doing out here? Siesta?" England strode up to them, raking his hands through his hair.

"Hey, you're early! How was the meeting? Workshop, whatever?"

England sat between Romano and Prussia. "Not good, damn it. That wanker America is such a bloody bastard sometimes." All three of the others started laughing. "What? What the hell did I say?"

This just sent the others into further hysterics. Since England didn't want to hurt Romano, he backhanded Prussia in the chest. "Will you shut it?" They just kept howling; he rolled his eyes and put his head in his hands.

Romano grabbed him and pulled him down onto the ground for a hug. "You're absolutely perfect, bastard."

Denmark punched Prussia in the arm, and Prussia swore loudly. "What a fucking awesome day."

…

Denmark paid for the dinner.

* * *

><p><em>I have no idea if these particular activities are possible at the Messecenter. I just wanted a venue with a lot of different activities.<em>


	4. Boozers

_The only times I've read about drunk!Romano, he's been passed out, or close to it. That's no fun!_

…

**Boozers.**

Here it was, Saturday night…and where was Romano? In _Germany_. But…he did have a good reason. He was finally going drinking with Prussia and Denmark.

"Hey!" Prussia leaped into view and spun Romano around in a hug. The albino was wearing all white, which made him look a little spooky. Romano, all in black, made an interesting contrast.

"Dammit, no hugs. Get off me." Romano struggled to get free. "Hey, Denmark, help! The dangerous fucking bastard won't put me down!"

Prussia finally stopped spinning him and let go with a grin. "Den's not here yet, unless he's inside. Let's go see."

The intimate corner bar, an old one in Berlin, was still quiet this early in the evening; not much smoke, not much noise. They found an empty booth in the back and settled in opposite each other. Since this was their first group drinking outing, Romano had made them choose a bar, not a dance club, because he didn't want the other two abandoning him to go dance. Prussia ordered a couple of beers and they talked of this and that, surprisingly managing not to argue about anything, and then Denmark finally arrived, about half an hour late. He too was dressed all in black.

"Hey, cutie," Prussia laughed. He patted the bench next to him.

"No, uh-uh." Romano shook his head. "Not together. I don't want to have to sit here and watch you two with all the lovey shit while I'm here by myself."

"Why are you here by yourself? Where's England?"

"At home, I guess, I don't know."

"Why didn't you ask him to join us?"

"Because this was a day for the three of us to go drinking together, albino potato!" Romano slammed a fist on the table. "Dammit, if I knew I could have invited him, I would have."

"Well, call him up! It's not too late, we're just getting started."

"Nah, too late; he's probably got plans now."

"Ooh," Prussia smiled. "I wonder who with?"

"Don't end a sentence with a preposition!"

Both Romano and Prussia stared at Denmark in amazement.

"What? I'm just trying to help!"

Then his friends burst into laughter. "Whatever, bastard. Let's get some real drinks. Beer is so – so _German."_

"Well, what do you expect? I am German. And we're _in Germany._"

"Cheh. Let me buy a round. Bloody Marys."

"Bloody Marys are such girly drinks!"

"I'm going to leave if you can't shut up, Prussia." Romano pushed away the rest of his beer; Prussia took it and downed it quickly. "But…yeah, how about…vodka martinis?"

"Yeah, like James Bond! Damn, you _should_ have invited Iggy."

Denmark put a restraining hand on Romano's shoulder. "Just buy the drinks."

"You get them. It's too hard for me to climb out of the booth over you," he grumbled. "Here." Romano handed Denmark some money and he moved off to the bar.

"Sorry, Romano."

"Yeah, right." The two fighting bastards sat in silence. Romano scowled at the walls, at the few other patrons, anywhere but at Prussia. Prussia just sat staring at him with his habitual smirk.

"What's taking him so long?" Prussia eventually wondered, turning to look. "The bar isn't even that full."

Denmark finally returned with three vodka martinis. "I had an idea while I was up there. How about this? First Romano buys a round, his choice of drinks, then Prussia, then me, keep going like that? You have to agree to drink whatever the buyer wants."

"Even if it's girly_?_" Romano sneered.

"Yes."

"Whatever, bastard. I'll drink whatever's on offer."

"Awesome! I'm buying beer every time, then."

"Why doesn't this surprise me," sighed Romano. "But, fine. I'll try to deal with it."

They raised their drinks. And then they drank the drinks.

"When's the last time you went out drinking?" Romano asked them.

"Last week, with West."

"Last week, with Norge."

"Dammit. Clearly I don't go out drinking enough." Romano chugged the rest of his martini and slammed the glass down on the table.

"Don't drink too fast, then. You'll pass out and miss all the fun!"

"Shut up," elbowing Denmark in the ribs. "I can handle my liquor, bastards."

"Kesesese, we'll see about that! Want to make a bet? Stay here until closing time; first one to pass out has to buy dinner next time." Prussia finished his drink.

"Chigi! Are you fucking _nuts_? I'm not going to drink enough to pass out_._" Romano finished his drink.

"Then you'll win the bet, what's the problem?" This suggestion from Denmark seemed to make perfect sense, so Romano agreed to the bet.

"But, you know, drinking until we pass out is what we do," Prussia pointed out. "Do you take the bet, Den?"

"Sure. Anyway, we don't pass out every time_._" He laughed.

"Name once."

Denmark sat and thought. Since they'd all finished their drinks by now, Prussia went to the bar for the three beers.

When he came back, Den was still thinking; Romano was grinning at him. "I can't remember. We always pass out."

"See! Man up, and drink that beer, Romano."

Romano drank his beer very slowly. "I can't decide what's worse, drinking this stuff slowly, so I only have to take little sips, but it makes it last too long, or drinking it all down very fast, which gets it over with quicker, but tastes worse."

"Chug it and find out," Denmark suggested, so he did.

"Ugh. Equally bad both ways!"

…

"Your go, Den. What are we drinking?"

"Let's have aquavit."

"They're not going to have that at this dump."

"This place isn't a dump, Romano! It's a nice little place. West and I come here a lot."

"Oh, no. Does that mean he's going to show up? With my idiot brother? _Chigi_!" He whacked the table.

"Doubt it. West said they were going to some fancy date thing in Paris tonight. Romantic dancing and shit."

"Good, that's good. I can't deal with Veneziano when I'm drinking. It's bad enough when I'm sober. Go get some drinks, Denmark."

"Bring back some pretzels!"

Denmark returned with a bowl of pretzels and three Bloody Marys.

"Den! What a sweetheart." Romano grinned. He immediately began sipping the delicious tomato drink. "I love tomatoes," he said happily, leaning back against the wall.

"Yeah, we know, you idiot."

"This tastes a little different, but really good, bastard, what's in it?"

"This is Danish style: with tomato juice and aquavit. They did have it here."

Prussia drank the drink. "Eh, not as girly as I'd thought. Hey, Den, thanks. Give me a kiss."

"Give it a fucking rest, you kissaholic. Not yet."

"Aww…damn."

"What do you mean, 'yet,' bastard?"

"Ah, ah, nothing, just – waiting for – for you to pass out."

"I'm not going to pass out, dammit! It's only ten-fifteen!" He began sipping more slowly, though, just to be on the safe side...and to savor the tomatoey delight for a little while longer. "Yum." He licked his lips and giggled a little.

"What's the next drink?" Prussia asked.

"Something else with tomatoes, please, bastards." He gave Denmark a silly grin.

"Calm down, will you both? I'm still finishing this."

They spent a few moments in silent contemplation of their drinks. Romano began humming along with the music that played on the speakers, looking around the dimly-lit bar, smiling at the world in general.

"Aw, Romano's a goofy drunk, did you notice? How fucking cute. How fucking unexpected_._"

"Shut up," Romano countered, trying to scowl, and failing. "You're such a potato head. Anyway, I have a question for you. What happens to you when you pass out?"

"What? Well, it's like falling asleep, I guess."

"Don't be an idiot. I mean, what happens when they want to close the bar, and you guys are passed out? How do they get you out? Do they just throw you out into an alley or what?"

"They used to use my cell phone and call West. By now they have him on speed dial."

"What do you mean, they used to?"

"Uh…I don't have a cell anymore. West took it away from me because I was spending too much time shopping online."

Denmark snorted his drink. "Now that's funny. What were you buying?"

"No! I don't even want to know, bastard. Don't say another fucking word."

Prussia just laughed. "Your turn to buy, Romano. What are we drinking?"

"Um…let me out of the booth. I need the bathroom; I'll think about it and buy them when I get back." He wandered off. Prussia suddenly got a funny look in his eye, leaped up, and ran after him.

…

In a few minutes, Romano came storming back, face a bright red, and he was definitely not a goofy drunk any more. Denmark had moved to Prussia's side of the booth, and Prussia was scurrying after Romano, a pleading hand extended, cackling. "Come on, Romano, don't be like that. It was a good opportunity!"

Den repressed a giggle at this. He'd bought another round of vodka martinis while they were gone; his was already half-gone.

Romano moved angrily to sit down on his side of the booth and was grabbed and pulled down by a rough pair of hands.

"What the fuck?" He looked up to find he was on England's lap. "Wah!" he yelled with a great big smile, eyes wide and all anger forgotten, and threw his arms around England's neck, snuggling up to him with a happy little murmur.

Over his shoulder, the island nation dropped his jaw, widened his eyes, in disbelief. Denmark just shrugged, grinning, and finished his drink.

"Hey, man," Prussia said, high-fiving him, "how did you find us?"

"Magic," England scoffed.

Romano drew back from his embrace to look in his eyes. "Wow."

"Magic cell phone, wanker. Denmark called me." He hugged Romano briefly.

"Denmark, you are one fucking awesome bastard."

"Hell, yeah," Prussia agreed.

"Hell, yeah," Denmark agreed.

"Maybe you gits should have called yourselves the Fucking Awesome Bastards."

"Nah. Too obvious." Denmark grabbed the rest of Prussia's drink and finished it.

"Hey, why are you drinking my drink? Damn it, Den, that's not awesome."

England shifted on the seat. "You're going to have to get off my lap, Romano. Your arse is too bony."

Romano pouted, and the others laughed at him, but he did move off England's lap.

"How long have you been here, anyway? Or is Romano just a lightweight? I've never been drinking with him, yet."

Romano pinched his arm while Denmark explained the events of the night so far, including about the bet.

"So are you going to join us in the bet, Iggy? It's a pretty awesome bet, if I do have to say so myself."

"Ordinarily I'd say yes, but you're several drinks ahead of me; it would be an easy win for me. So I won't."

"That's fair enough. Why don't you buy the next round, though?"

England bought rum and coke for everyone.

…

"Why do you need to know about Romano's underwear, anyway?"

"It's the principle of the thing!" Prussia argued. "He keeps not letting us find out."

"Principle, my ass," Romano giggled. "You just can't keep your hands off me, bastard!" He leaned up against England and sighed happily when the blond put a resigned arm around his shoulders. "I love being friends with you guys."

"I really, _really_ wish we had a video camera here," Denmark grumbled. "Nobody will ever believe this."

"Plus it would be awesome blackmail, kesesese~!"

"Shut up, potato brain. Go buy us some drinks." Romano put his chin down on the table and gave Prussia, opposite him, a very good imitation of a puppy dog.

"You're such a fucking cute drunk, Romano. You should do this more often."

"Bastard."

"Fuck it, Prussia, how come you keep talking about how cute Romano is? Why the hell aren't you talking about how cute I am?" Denmark finally exploded. He downed the rest of his drink and punched Prussia in the arm.

"Ow! Damn it, Denmark!" Prussia punched him back.

Romano looked at Denmark in astonishment. "The dangerous fucking bastard was right! You _do_ swear and fight more when you've been drinking." He tried to poke Denmark but missed. "You're a fighting boozer! Ha ha. I really never would have believed him if I hadn't seen it myself."

"Yeah, but, you're a way cuter drunk, Romano…come on, kiss the awesome me."

"_Chigi_! Your boyfriend's sitting right here, you stupid kissaholic!" Romano dissolved into giggles again. "And so is mine!"

"I don't want to kiss Den; he punched me!"

"Bollocks. Maybe I _should_ get plastered," England groaned to himself, leaning against the wall.

Denmark rolled his eyes, nodding in agreement. "Go get us some beers, Prussia." As the albino moved off, he turned to Romano. "Stop teasing him, do you hear me?"

"Yeah, that's right, Den, it's all my fault," Romano scoffed. "I'm corrupting the albino potato_._" He burst into raucous laughter at this idea and turned to England. "Hey, can I corrupt you?" He leaned in, as if for a kiss.

"You already corrupted me," England smirked, without giving him a kiss.

Prussia returned with the beers. "Drink up! This stuff is the best! Pilsner Urquell!"

"That's not even German," Denmark pointed out. "I can't believe you'd ever say it was the best."

"The brewery used to be in German territory. Drink it."

…

"What are we drinking next?" They'd just finished a round of vodka tonics.

"It's the dangerous fucking bastard's turn. What are we drinking, Romano?"

Romano was leaning against England with his eyes closed.

"Did he pass out? Did he lose the bet? Kesesese~, that's awesome! It's only 11:30!_"_

"I'm not gonna lose this bet to you, albino potato. I didn't lose the last bet and I'm not going to lose this one." He opened his eyes. "Let's have…uh, no, those are too girly…hmm…well, we could do those Danish Bloody Marys again?"

"No! Pick something new!"

Romano turned to England. "What would you like to drink? You can pick. I'll buy." He reached under the table and squeezed his friend's hand.

"Hmm. Black Russians?"

"Yeah! I love those!" Prussia yelled. "Let's do that!" Romano handed him some money and he pelted off to the bar.

"We should have gone to a dance club. I'm getting antsy, just sitting around this fucking place, drinking." Denmark was looking kind of irritable. "And Prussia's getting too loud and obnoxious."

Romano squeezed England's hand again and leaned up against him. "A dance club would be fun. I wanna dance with you, angel."

England's blush passed straight through red into purple. "Shut it, wanker! Bollocks," he hissed. Too late, though; Denmark was howling so much that he nearly fell out of the booth. Romano seemed oblivious to his laughter, and moved to sit quietly with his chin propped on his friend's shoulder, twirling a finger idly through the messy blond hair, humming quietly. England simply folded his arms and scowled at Denmark.

"What? What'd I miss?" Prussia came back with the drinks and had to put the tray down so that he could shift the hysterical Denmark into a sitting position. "Damn, how come I always miss the awesome stuff? What the hell happened?"

Romano calmly turned to him and said, "We're thinking of going to a dance club. What do you think?"

Denmark wiped his eyes and took a fresh drink from the tray. "Shit, Romano, you're so damn funny when you're drunk. We need to do this more often."

"I really _don't_ want to go to a dance club," England said haughtily, which just sent Denmark into laughter again.

"You need another drink, Iggy. Here." Prussia handed him a Black Russian. "I don't want to go dancing either. Besides, if we leave here, the bet's off, and I intend to win."

Romano pouted.

"Don't pout_; _it makes you look like a little kid_._ Come here." England wrapped an arm around Romano and shared his drink with him.

"Awww! Den, check it out, it's like a mommy bird feeding her baby bird!"

"Shut up," England and Romano said at the same time, and then started laughing together.

…

"You know, I'm surprised Denmark hasn't picked a fight with anybody yet." This round, Scotch and soda.

"Like it's some kind of _rule_ that I have to get in a fight? Damn you, Prussia."

"Just don't get in a fight with me, bastard."

"Why would I fight with you?"

"'Cause we're the Fighting Fucking Boozers, right? Kesesese!"

England rested his head against the wall. "What about that time at the world meeting in Moscow? You were a monster. All that vodka! You even attacked Russia."

"Yeah, that was fun," Den put his chin in his hands and let himself wallow in memories for a minute with a big vague grin on his face. "Or remember that time Swissy hosted a meeting…we drank all that fucking white wine…"

"Yeah! Damn, that was really awesome! When you got up on the table—"

"And your fucking axe! What a git. We had to pay for a new chandelier."

"Classic!" Prussia agreed, cackling.

"Why do I miss all this good stuff, dammit?"

"Because you never come to the meetings, idiot." England ruffled his hair. "I think the best one was that time you brought the Chihuahua to Japan's place, Den."

"Ha ha ha, yes! When it went under Poland's dress – priceless!" The three of them started whooping crazily.

"Dammit," Romano grumbled. "Maybe I should start coming to the meetings."

"Maybe you should," England agreed, wiping his eyes and smiling fondly at him. "Think of all the fun we could have."

Romano didn't look at him; didn't say a word.

…

Denmark weaved his way to the bar and picked up three more drinks.

"What are these, bastard?" Romano was once again snuggled up to England, but surprisingly didn't look like he was ready to pass out yet. All the others had assumed he'd be the one to lose the bet first.

"It's Seven and Seven. Drink up. We have less than an hour to closing time."

Prussia grabbed a glass. "Really? Damn, what if we all win?"

"Romano will pass out, just watch."

"Don't pass out!" England warned. "I really don't want to have to haul your drunken carcass home tonight."

"Cheh, don't worry, I've got it under control, you adorable bastard." He leaned in to kiss England's ear and then drew back abruptly. "Whoops. Sorry, Den."

Everyone looked at him in amazement.

"What are you staring at, dammit?" He sipped his drink to cover his confusion.

"What did you mean, 'Sorry, Den'? What does Denmark have to do with it?"

"Well – he – he wouldn't let you kiss him, remember? He said you had to wait until I passed out. So I guess I have to wait until you idiots pass out, right?"

Denmark laughed. "Shit, like that's going to happen. You're _so_ going down, Romano."

"Fucking bastard. Watch me."

"Kesesese~!" Prussia drank his drink.

…

"How many drinks have you had, anyway?" Everyone was drinking gin and tonics.

There was a short silence as the Skirmish Brothers each tried to tally up their drinks.

"Seven," Denmark said decisively.

"Nine!" Prussia argued.

"Cheh, you're both wrong, it was ten."

"Ten drinks," England scoffed. "Weak wankers." He knocked back his drink.

Romano scowled at him and then turned to his friends. "Okay, let's count. The potato and I had beers before you got here, Den."

"Don't count those. Start with the vodka martini."

"Right."

"Some kind of gross beer that I chugged."

"Romano!"

Romano ignored him. "Bloody Mary…rum and coke…Pilsner whatever beer…" His voice faded away as he lost his train of thought and leaned against England, closing his eyes.

"Awesome! Romano loses the bet." Prussia picked up Romano's gin and tonic. "You want this, Iggy?"

"No, go for it," the island nation sighed, shifting Romano a little. Prussia drank the rest of Romano's drink.

But – "I didn't lose the bet, you idiot, I'm just trying to think of what happened after your stupid German-not-German beer."

"Black Russians," England put in.

"No, I bought that second round of vodka martinis when England got here. Then the Black Russians."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." Romano opened his eyes and gave Denmark a sweet smile. England ruffled his dark hair affectionately, and Romano snuggled closer, playing with his fingers under the table. "Then the Seven and Sevens. So it was eight, unless you count the beers Prussia and I started with."

"No, you forgot the fucking gin and tonics. How could you forget that? They're right on the table!"

"Shut up, Den. You forgot the vodka tonics."

"All of you forgot the Scotch and soda. And that makes eleven drinks, so you were all wrong. Huh. I'm surprised none of you wankers has passed out yet. It's almost one o'clock."

"Damn, Prussia, you were right, we're all going to win." There was no response. "Prussia?"

To the sheer amazement of everyone at the table, Prussia was lying with his head down on the table, snoring deeply.

"Awesome!" Romano yelled, jumping up. "He lost the damn bet!" He turned to England. "Take a picture, please; I really need evidence of this. Please? You know he won't believe us if we just tell him." He gave his friends another puppy-dog look.

"Yes, sure, let me out of the booth." England snapped a picture with his cell phone; Denmark and Romano beaming eagerly into the lens, Prussia on the table.

"You going to be all right to get him home, Denmark?"

"Hell, yeah." They left the bar a few minutes before closing time, Prussia draped over Denmark's strong shoulder. He manhandled the albino into a cab.

"Hey, Den, thanks for calling me."

"Yeah. Tell the potato we said good night?"

"Sure." Denmark gave them both a sweet smile and climbed into the cab next to Prussia; they drove off.

"Well, now, you drunken demon, what are we going to do now?" England asked with a silly grin. "Dancing?"

"I don't even know why I said that." Romano shook his head. "Let's go someplace more civilized. Hanging out in potato-land is kind of creepy."

So they hailed a cab and went to Paris for a very early breakfast.


	5. Snoozers

**Snoozers.**

Romano was in the middle of cleaning the kitchen when his doorbell rang. "Dammit." He threw the damp rag into the sink and stalked to the door. If it was England, he was going to get an _earful…_ Romano had told him this weekend was off-limits. Housework needed to be done, and he'd been putting it off in order to run around socializing recently. Socializing too much. The kitchen was the most important room in his house, and he'd saved it for last, but he really wanted to make sure it was sparkling clean.

"Surprise!"

Nope, not England…it was Prussia and Denmark, in matching red swim trunks and t-shirts.

"Dammit, what are you bastards doing here? And why are you dressed like fucking _twins_? You look ridiculous."

"Shut up. It's a beautiful Saturday, and we want to go to the beach, and we want you to go to the beach with us, because you have awesome beaches."

"We brought a picnic," Denmark added cheerfully, as an enticement.

"You can even call Iggy if you like! There's plenty of food."

"Nh, come in…come into the kitchen so I can finish cleaning and think about it." They walked into the near-spotless kitchen and the guests sat at the big granite-topped island while Romano finished mopping up the countertops. His gaze kept drifting to the window, to the beautiful warm summer day…perfect beach weather…"Yeah, all right, I'll go. Give me about ten minutes?"

"Sure. Want me to call England for you?"

Romano thought about this. It was probably not a wise idea. He'd already told his friend "no socializing" and now to call him up and say "I'm going socializing with Prussia and Denmark"? Hmm, he _really_ didn't think it was a wise idea, although it would be fun to play at the beach with him… "No, don't," he finally decided. "We weren't planning to get together today anyway, so I don't want to interrupt whatever plans he might have."

"Suit yourself. Are you done cleaning yet?"

"Done enough, anyway. Let me run upstairs and change and get my stuff."

While he was gone, Denmark sent a text to England anyway. Prussia kept grabbing the phone to check for a response, periodically letting out a little laugh under his breath, but by the time Romano returned with a small bag and wearing his black swim trunks, there was still no answer, so they left for the beach.

"What made you bastards think of this, anyway?" He sat in the back seat.

"Nice day in Denmark, but too cold."

"Nice day in Germany, but all the beaches are up near Denmark! You really do have great beaches, Romano. I'm so glad we're friends with you."

"Cheh, just so you can come to my beaches? That's kind of dumb. You can go to any beach you want! There's no law against it."

"Yes, but it's so much nicer to hang around with friends, not just going to some anonymous beach, right, Prussia?"

"Right! Or, for example, going to a dodgy beach…"

"What the hell does that mean, dammit?"

"Ah ha ha ha, a nude beach?"

"Yep, that's just what I meant. You're awesome, Den, but your nude beaches…ah, sometimes it just isn't what I want to do."

A moment while they each privately considered the desirability (or not) of nude beaches.

"Well, anyway, since we had nothing to do we thought it would be a good day for it. You sure you're all right with this?" Prussia swiped Denmark's phone again and checked it surreptitiously, but still no response. He sent another text.

"Yes! Why would I be in the car with you idiots if I wasn't all right with it? You always ask me these stupidly obvious kinds of questions, dammit."

Denmark finally pulled up to the little beach parking lot and they got out with all their gear. Prussia had brought an umbrella to protect his delicate albino skin. Denmark had the picnic basket. Each of them had a little bag with towels and other items. And Romano had brought a chilled bottle of champagne in a cooler bag.

By now – about noon – it was really quite crowded, but they did manage to find a good spot and spread out their gear. "I do love coming to the beach. Thanks for coming to get me, bastards."

"No problem! Hey, Prussia, put some sunscreen on my back for me, all right?"

"Eh, you have to do me first, I'm more delicate," Prussia laughed. So he lay down facing the water while Denmark lazily rubbed the cream into the skin of his strong back.

Romano pulled a little bottle of suntan oil out of his bag. "Cheh, sun cream," he scoffed, rubbing the oil into his skin. "_Delicate_." Snort.

"You're pretty lucky to have such tan skin," Denmark agreed. "For me and Prussia sun can be pretty painful." Prussia had put on sunglasses to protect his eyes and sat up to begin smearing sunscreen on his Nordic friend's broad back.

"You _are_ a pretty good-looking guy, Romano." This in a (surprisingly) rather normal conversational tone from Prussia. "I can see why Iggy likes you so much; that tan skin is very exotic."

"Chigi! Will you _shut up!" _There was a short pause while Den and Prussia watched Romano blush, and then he went on, "But, yeah," and lay back in the sun with his arm over his eyes, smirking.

For a little while the friends simply relaxed together, talking of this and that, while the sunscreen soaked in. "Hey, we haven't made a bet yet," Den realized.

"We don't always have to have a bet, you know, bastard."

"Yeah, but we might as well! What should we bet on?"

They all considered this for a moment. "Do you guys ever fall asleep at the beach?" Prussia finally asked.

"I try not to, because I might get sunburned. But sometimes I do anyway."

"Cheh, I fall asleep at the beach all the time. It's warm and relaxing. No bets about sleeping! I won't take a bet like that."

"Well, we can't bet about sunburn, since Romano doesn't burn."

"Ah, hell, there's nothing to bet on, then, dammit. Forget it. We can bet on something next time."

Reluctantly the two more northern friends agreed. Prussia started idly heaping sand into piles, but then couldn't stand it anymore. "I'm going in. Anybody coming with me?"

"Go for it, Den," Romano yawned. "I'll stick around." He shifted position, lying face down, chin in hands, so he could watch his friends play in the water.

"Damn, you're going to sleep already?"

"No! I just – just –"

His friends laughed. "Good thing we didn't make that bet. All right, see you in a little bit."

When they reached the water, Prussia immediately began splashing Denmark. "I'm going to get you wet so all that hair gel will stick together!"

"I already told you, I don't use hair gel. This is just the way my hair is!" Denmark splashed back. "When's the last time you were at a beach, anyway?" he wondered.

"Last summer, I guess, up in Kiel," Prussia considered, splashing some more. "Can't really remember. I know there was a day last summer I was trying to persuade West to take me, but he was too busy getting ready for some conference."

"Yeah, you're kind of lucky that you don't have to mess with that stuff." Denmark lay back and floated on his back for a while.

Prussia stood in the water, making swirls with his hands, staring around and occasionally diving or splashing. Every once in a while he waved at Romano, who idly waved back. Little kids looked at Prussia and edged away. This made him snicker; Denmark ignored him, serenely floating.

After a few more minutes of play, he looked down at his arms. "Hey, I'm going back under the umbrella; I think I need more sunscreen."

"Already? Want me to come put it on you?"

"Nah, that's all right, I'll get Romano to do it. Have fun out here!"

"Let him come out when he's done putting the sunscreen on." Denmark lay back in the water again and Prussia headed towards the umbrella.

"You really can't take it, can you, albino potato?"

"Hey, don't blame me. I didn't ask to be born this way." Prussia chuckled and sat under the umbrella. "I have to do more sunscreen – will you do my back when I'm ready?"

"Sure."

Prussia began applying the thick cream to his arms and torso. A few minutes later, a couple of little kids ran by, kicking up sand onto both of the friends.

_"Merda!"_ Romano yelled, brushing sand out of his face and hair, but the kids were long gone by then.

"Oh, shit. Now there's sand sticking to my sunscreen. I hate that."

"It ought to rinse off in the water, though, right?" He sat up and took the bottle from Prussia. "Lie down, bastard; I'll put some on your back."

He was an experienced masseur, and got a little carried away daydreaming and rubbing the cream into his friend's pale, muscular back. Prussia let out a little groan and cradled his head in his arms. "Damn, that feels awesome, Romano. Are you giving me a backrub?"

"Chigi!" He stopped. "Sorry."

"Hey, don't be sorry, it felt really relaxing! You can keep going if you want. _I _might fall asleep, though."

"Well, if you really want…?" At least if he fell asleep he'd shut up.

"Yes, please!"

So Romano continued massaging Prussia's back, until all the sunscreen had been absorbed. "Are you asleep?" he asked quietly, hopefully.

"Nope! Just lying here enjoying the backrub. Thanks, that was great." He sighed in contentment.

Dammit. "Well, you're all sunscreened, now, so, you should be all right. Why don't you get that spray kind? It would be a lot easier to put on."

"Yeah, but I was planning to make Den rub it on me all day!"

Romano shook his head in dismay. "You're such a pig sometimes. Poor Den. I really don't know how he puts up with you. Or why."

"Aw, come on, you love me, and you know it."

"Don't start that again!" Romano threw the sunscreen bottle at him and lay down again.

"Ow. Why don't you go in the water? Or are you just a beach bunny? Just want to lie around in the sun all day?"

"No, I like the water. I think I will go in – at least it will get me away from you!" Romano stalked off towards the water and joined Denmark.

"He's driving me nuts," he said shortly, by way of explanation.

"There's a surprise." Denmark laughed at him. "I don't know why you let him get to you."

Romano splashed him, and this escalated almost immediately into a splash fight. Denmark's height gave him a disadvantage on the attack; Romano was closer to the water, and able to splash more fiercely and effectively. "Chigi!" he yelled, laughing. "You're going down!"

But Denmark's height also gave him the advantage on defense; it was harder for Romano to splash the water up that high. "Ha ha!" he called out, dodging. "You little pipsqueak! You'll never win!" They splashed and laughed, yelling, for several more minutes, until Romano ended up with a mouthful of water and started coughing.

"Dammit, that was fun," he eventually wheezed, and Denmark came over to hug him in the water. They looked back towards the umbrella to see that Prussia had apparently fallen asleep.

"Good thing we didn't make that bet! He'd be really pissed, losing two bets in a row. Come on, let's go hang out with him, and have our lunch."

"Hey, let's build a sand castle," Prussia suggested when they woke him up. He and Romano got started building one while Denmark unpacked the lunch. Unfortunately, due to their diverse architectural heritage, it looked a bit bizarre, half Sanssouci and half Castel Sant'Angelo. Every time Prussia tried to add the dome to his side, it collapsed.

"Bastard, I had no idea you were a sand-castle kind of guy." Romano tried to add a bridge between the two wings, but it kept falling down. He decided to make a solid bridge and then adapt it.

"Hey, Germany has a great legacy of architecture! Maybe not as famous as yours, but we did have a lot of cool stuff. Ask West for a tour sometime." Prussia tried to put the dome on again. It collapsed.

"Cheh, like that's going to happen. He makes me crazy. I'm not about to ask him for any German information. If I ever feel like I need to know about Germany" (clearly he did not think this would ever happen), "you can tell me about it, all right, albino potato?" He delicately scooped sand out to make the bridge arches.

"Sure," Prussia replied cheerfully. "What d'you want to know?"

"Nothing! I just meant, _if_ I ever wanted to know!" Romano waved his arm and knocked the bridge down in his agitation.

"Hey! Leave the castle alone!"

Denmark had finished laying out the food. "Come on; let's eat before this stuff spoils. Don't know how I always end up doing all the work when you guys are around."

"That's so ridiculously unfair, you Nordic idiot," Prussia scoffed. "When's the last time you had to do _any_ work when we were around? Besides driving."

Denmark considered this; the other two abandoned the castle, dusting their hands off, and came to eat. "All right, forget I said anything," he eventually replied.

Romano opened the champagne. "What the fuck is this? Potato bastard food? Dammit, Den, how could you do this to me?"

"What did you expect? That we'd stop off and buy pasta on the way? We didn't even know if you'd be coming with us! At least I remembered some stuff with tomatoes."

"Yeah, all right, thanks, bastard. I appreciate it." He poured the champagne into plastic cups and the three of them sat leisurely eating and drinking a while. Romano tried to focus on the tomato dishes and Danish treats while avoiding the wurst and potatoes. There were limits, after all.

"So when do you guys have another world meeting?" Prussia asked. "And where is it?"

"I have no idea. I don't go to them, remember? Veneziano takes care of all that." He did get a dreamy little look on his face, though. Maybe he _would_ start going…

"Next one's in Switzerland," Den said. "About six weeks from now?"

"Been a while since we've been to Swissy's place. Wonder what it's like in the summer," Prussia asked, while looking off towards the water nonchalantly.

Both his friends burst into laughter at this exceedingly transparent ruse. "Want to go to the conference with me?" Denmark asked.

"Sure, I'd love to!" They laughed some more, and Romano accidentally knocked over the champagne bottle. They sadly watched it drain into the sand.

"Chigi," Romano said idly, but he wasn't really that upset. "Do we have anything else to drink?"

"Yeah, there's some soda, hold on." Den rummaged around in the picnic basket for a bottle of soda while Romano got up to toss the empty champagne bottle in the trash.

"Dammit," he said, returning to the umbrella. "That was good stuff, too."

"Well, you've got more at home, right? We can get drunk when we go back!"

"Shut up, idiot. Hey, you should put more sunscreen on Den, or he's going to burn."

"Yeah, do it, Prussia, I don't want to have to put aloe on my back all week!"

While Prussia bent to his task, Romano broached a topic that had been intriguing him for a while. "You know, you bastards used to share a common border, before the potato bastard got all that land. I've always wondered how you got to be friends in the first place, because it always seems to me that nations with common borders are always fighting. Is it just recently you became friends? After the albino potato lost his nation status?"

"It's pretty tricky. We went back and forth a lot with the provinces of Schleswig and Holstein. I controlled them for a really long time – centuries before little Prussia was around." Denmark poked his friend. "But Holy Rome had Holstein for a long time, too."

"Holy Rome was a bastard."

"Well, whatever." Denmark then gave Prussia a funny look, but the albino seemed to be daydreaming as he recapped the sunscreen. "But eventually I got it all."

"Yeah, but then when people started learning about the awesome me, they wanted to – to _become one with me_," the albino laughed. "I really hate to use that phrase, but it was true. They had all kinds of referendums and votes and things, and they kept voting to become part of Prussia. Ha ha, old man!" He ruffled Denmark's spiky hair, which had still dried spiky when he came out of the water, hair gel or no.

"But it still didn't work. I still controlled it for about fifty more years before this idiot decided to go to war."

"You're so fucking belligerent, you albino bastard."

"Hey, the people wanted me, I wanted them; it was all good!"

"Except that I won the war, Prussia!"

"Well, yeah, there _was_ that…" His face fell. "But only temporarily! I tried again, and wham, beat this guy."

"Austria helped, you know. You didn't do it all yourself."

"Pfft, Austria…" Prussia waved dismissively. "He didn't help much." Romano laughed, knowing that was probably a bit of a stretch.

"Even England got involved in that one. He tried to bring about a peace between us, but…it didn't work."

"Yeah, I've seen how well he's able to influence you bastards." Romano snorted. "So then it was all Prussia's after that?"

"For a little while. Den was pretty laid-back about it after that. He had a lot of votes and things, too, but nobody really did anything about it. But then the northern part of Schleswig went to him, and I got all the rest, plus a lot more. Kesesese!"

"I don't see how you can crow about this stuff when you're actually an ex-nation now," Denmark pointed out.

"Are you still sore about it? Shit, Den, get over it. That was over a hundred years ago!"

"I'm not sore about it; I just don't understand your point of view."

"It's because he's 'awesome.'"

"Romano! You _do_ love me!" Prussia leaped over the picnic cloth to hug his friend, shouting with laughter.

"Get off, bastard, I was trying to be sarcastic, but I guess your feeble potato brain couldn't pick up on that." Prussia ignored him, hugging the struggling Italian and whooping. "Plus you're getting sunscreen all over me! Dammit!"

"Get off him, Prussia. Imagine what he's going to look like if he gets tan on parts of his body and not others."

"Like a spotted cow!" The albino reluctantly let go, still laughing, and went back to his towel. Romano scowled and tried to wipe off the sunscreen. Prussia reapplied his sunscreen; Romano pulled out his bottle of suntan oil to do the same.

By now they'd finished eating. "Here, give me the trash, I'll go toss it," Romano offered.

"I want to go swimming again. Who's coming with me?"

"I'll go," Denmark sighed. "Gotta keep you from drowning after your heavy meal!"

"Sunscreen him again, albino potato."

"No, I'll be all right, but thanks. Come on, Prussia, let's go in."

…

Romano was apparently asleep, face down in the sun, when the other two returned. "Shh, don't wake him! Damn, it's a really good thing we didn't make that bet!"

"Oh, come on, Denmark! How can I resist?" Prussia sat down next to Romano in the sun and reached out a hand to poke the Italian in the side.

"Don't touch me, dammit," Romano said sleepily.

"You're surprisingly calm." Denmark was surprised. The albino pouted and lay down on his towel.

"I'm feeling mellow."

"If you're that mellow, let me poke you!"

"Bastard."

"What time is it, anyway, Den?"

"About three?" Den checked his cell phone. "Hmm, yeah, three-fifteen."

"Did you get any – ah – uh –" Prussia pointed to the phone significantly, trying not to talk in front of Romano.

"Uh – ah, no, but at this point it's really kind of late, don't you think?"

"What are you bastards talking about?" Romano didn't open his eyes.

"Ah – nothing, nothing," Prussia hurriedly responded. "Just keep sleeping."

"Not sleeping, you idiot. Do you think I talk like this in my sleep?"

"Hey, let's get some gelato." Den tried to defuse the situation. "Come on, Prussia, let's go."

"Bring me back some, bastards."

The other two walked off to get some gelato.

When they came back Romano had managed to sit up and was looking around in confusion. "What's wrong?" Den asked.

"I just wondered where you guys were, that's all."

"We just went for the gelato! What's the matter with you? We were only gone about two minutes!"

"Gelato? Did you get me any?"

Both Prussia and Denmark stared at Romano.

"Bastards, what the hell are you staring at?"

"You asked us to get you some! We did. Were you _asleep_ or something?"

He considered. "Must have been. I don't remember talking about gelato at all."

"Wow, you're good. You even told us you weren't asleep!"

Romano shrugged and reached up for the cup that Prussia held, and as he took it, accidentally dropped it into the sand. "Dammit!"

"Well, it's not like you were sitting around waiting for it, sleepyhead."

"Shut up, you moron. Let me share yours." He buried the fallen treat in the sand.

Prussia was gracious enough to allow this, and sat in the sun while they took turns eating it. Denmark lay full-length on his beach towel, watching the water, eating his gelato, eventually putting his head down in his arms.

"You guys want to stay for dinner tonight?" Romano finally asked.

"Sure, that'd be great! Then we will have had three awesome cuisines today."

"No, only two_._" Romano smirked and ate the last of the gelato.

"I really don't see why you have such a problem with German food," Prussia grumbled. "It's good!"

"Cheh."

They looked at Denmark for his opinion, but he was apparently asleep. Prussia gestured towards the water and Romano nodded; the two of them left the Dane sleeping and went to play in the water.

"How come you didn't want us to call Iggy for you?"

Romano floated on his back. "Told him I had to stay home and clean today. If he knew I was goofing off with you bastards he'd get all pissed off."

Prussia snorted. "Nah, he would have come with us."

"No way. Want to bet?"

"Sure, I'll bet. What will we bet?"

"Winner gets to choose, hmm…gets to choose the kind of food we eat next time we go out?"

"You mean that if I actually win this bet, you'll eat German food? Without complaining? Kesesese, you've got yourself a deal, Romano! We'll call him when we get back to your place."

"He's going to be pissed," Romano stated flatly, but they shook damp hands and Prussia began frolicking in the water. Romano continued to float serenely on his back with his eyes shut, feeling the soothing rocking of the waves beneath him.

"Hey, quit splashing," he eventually said, but it wasn't Prussia splashing, it was rain. "Hey, potato brain, it's raining! Come on, we have to get out of the water." They hurried back to the umbrella, where an awake Denmark was hurriedly trying to pack up all the towels before they got wet.

"Might as well head back," Romano sighed, "it would have been time to go soon anyway." They packed everything very quickly and headed back to Denmark's car.

"Damn it, though, I really wanted to stay for a while longer! I was asleep!"

"Yeah, we know, bastard, you looked so peaceful there. Maybe we should have bet that whoever stayed awake lost the bet!"

"Whatever. Let's just go."

"Are we sure we have everything? Are you awake enough to drive, Den?"

"Yes, yes, let's go. I hate getting rained on."

As they drove back to Romano's house, Prussia started twitching in his seat. "What's with you?" Denmark handed the cell phone to Prussia. "Here, check this again."

"I think I got some sunburn. My shoulders are itching."

"I have some aloe at home, bastard, I can put it on when we get there."

"Thanks. Damn, I hate being sunburned." He looked at the cell phone and handed it back to Den. "Nope, nothing."

"I think maybe I got a little burned, too," Denmark admitted. "My back feels hot."

"Cheh, yes, I have enough for you too…"

"Can we stay overnight? To let the aloe soak in?" Prussia turned in his seat to smile sweetly at Romano.

"Chigi! Why don't you just ask if you can stay because you want to stay? These cheap excuses always sound so – so _cheap,_ dammit." Romano rubbed his face, feeling stupid; he was tired and couldn't think of any better way to say it. "But yeah, you can stay if you like."

…

They drew into Romano's driveway. "What the hell's that?" he wondered. Something was lying under one of the large trees in his front yard.

"Ha ha! It's _Iggy_!" Prussia turned to Romano with an extremely gleeful expression. "Kesesese~! I'm gonna win that bet, Romano!" He leaped out of the car before Denmark had parked it, and ran over to the bundle under the tree. "Wake up wake up!" He nudged it with his foot. "Wake up, come on, Iggy, wake up!" He was jumping up and down in his excitement.

"What bet's he talking about?" Den asked.

"Stupid bet about England. Dammit. Never mind about it."

England opened sleepy eyes and looked up at the albino. "What the hell are you doing, wanker?" He looked around. "Where am I?"

By this time Romano and Denmark had joined them. "What are you doing here, bastard?"

The island nation sat up. "Oh, right. Now I remember. I came over to help you clean house."

_Oh._ The tiny amount of guilt that Romano had felt now mushroomed into a much larger amount of guilt. He looked down at his feet.

England rubbed his face. "What time is it?"

"About four-thirty," Den laughed. "Why? How long have you been here?"

"Got here around noon. Where were you? I thought you said you couldn't socialize today?" He looked up at Romano with the beginnings of a very irritated scowl.

"We went to the beach," put in Prussia, before Romano could make any lame excuses.

"You went to the beach," England repeated flatly. "Why didn't you call me? Fucking wankers. That's what you should have called yourselves, the Fucking Wankers." He put his head in his hands.

"Would you have come with the awesome us?"

"Of course I would, gits!"

"Kesesese~! Wa ha ha!" Prussia began victory-dancing around the front lawn, doing cartwheels and handsprings and yelling, but Romano was too worried to bother about that now.

"Uh, I – uh –"

Denmark came to the rescue. "We've been texting you all day, England! Why haven't you checked your messages?"

Romano looked at Denmark, terrified of England's reaction when he eventually learned that not only had they failed to invite him, but that Den had lied about it. Denmark simply smiled at him.

England pulled out his cell phone and looked at it. "Huh, I forgot I had the ringer turned off. Bloody hell, a day at the beach would have been perfect. And damn! I just missed you guys! This first text is from 11:40, and I got here at noon! Blast_._" He threw the cell phone down and scowled.

Romano now looked at Denmark, eyes wide in sheer amazement. "But – but I said –"

Denmark smiled fondly and hugged his friend, who hugged him back very tightly. Maybe it was going to be worth eating potato bastard food just to have gotten through that safely!

"What's up with you two?"

"Oh, nothing you need to worry about," Den laughed.

Prussia was still cavorting on the lawn. "German food, _German food_," he sang. "Romano's going to eat German food! Without complaining!"

"All right, then what's with him?" England asked, finally standing up.

"No idea," Denmark answered. "Romano won't tell me."

"Won a bet." Romano was a bit perturbed. Potato bastard food! Well, at least it wouldn't be tonight. Maybe Prussia would eventually forget. "Let's go inside. I'll get dinner started. Will you stay?" he asked England.

"Of course I'll stay, git, why would I haul myself all the way down here, spend the day waiting, and then leave?" He ruffled Romano's hair. "Come on, I'll help carry stuff in, if you need it." The three of them moved to the car. "Ow. I must have fallen asleep in the sun…my back feels burned." England lifted his shirt in the back. "Am I red?"

Romano looked at him. "Yep. Just a little, though, idiot, right above your waistband. Don't worry; I've got to get aloe on these pale bastards, so I'll take care of you too." He turned back to the exuberant Prussia. "Hey, albino potato, let's go inside!" Then Romano leaned forward to whisper in the island nation's ear. "Want to stay over, and go to the beach with me tomorrow?"

England smiled. "Love to."

…

"All right, bastards, here's the aloe. Knock yourselves out." Romano put a little bit on his hand and rubbed it on the sunburn at the base of England's back. Dinner had, as expected, been delicious, including three bottles of the good champagne and some more gelato for dessert, and all four of them were now relaxing in the living room together.

"Gah, that stuff is always so cold…"

Prussia and Denmark removed their shirts and carefully applied aloe vera to each other's burns. Then they all lay face-down on the rug.

"Too bad it's summer; we could have another fire."

"Save it, wanker."

Denmark just grinned as he looked into the cold fireplace. "I'm still feeling a little sleepy," he confessed.

"Want me to get pillows and blankets?"

"Yes, please!"

"Come on, bastard, come help me," he said to England.

They returned with an armful of bedclothes, only to find the other two asleep already, snoring.

"Dammit."

"Ah, whatever. Let's cover them up." They managed to slide pillows under their heads and then cover them up. "Do you want to stay downstairs with them?"

"That's – that's pretty decent of you, bastard. I kind of feel like I ought to stay down here tonight, in case they wake up and need something. We had a good day at the beach together."

"That's good. I'm still mad that I missed your texts, though. Um - do you mind if I sleep in the guest room? My back hurts from lying on the ground all afternoon. A bed would be better for me."

"I don't mind a bit. I'll see you in the morning." They shared a quick kiss and England went up to the guest room.

"Good night, you snoozy bastards," Romano muttered to his friends, taking a blanket and settling in next to Denmark. "I had a really fun day."

He fell asleep almost immediately.


	6. Beach, Take 2

**Beach, Take 2.**

"Wake up, Romano! Hey, why did you sleep down here?" Prussia was most annoyingly obnoxious this early in the morning.

"Argh, you idiot, because we always sleep down here together when you guys stay over!" Romano tried to go back to sleep, but Denmark was awake now, too, and started rummaging around the room noisily.

"Where's Iggy?"

"Slept in the guest room. Lucky bastard, doesn't have to listen to you at this ungodly hour."

"Ungodly! It's nine o'clock! Hey, Den, how did we sleep so late? I never sleep this late."

Denmark stretched. "Who cares, we slept, we woke up, it's all good, right?" He laughed at Prussia's astonished expression. "Wanna go get some breakfast?"

"Sure. Let me wash up." Prussia slipped out of the room to use the bathroom, almost colliding with England on the stairs.

"You gits sure make a lot of noise in the morning," he grumbled.

"Tell me about it. Fucking northern bastards." Romano was still lying in his cocoon of covers. England walked over and sat on the floor beside him. They were both a little groggy, neither being a morning person.

Prussia came back into the room. "Are you two going to come out to breakfast with us?"

"Don't know. What time did you want to leave for the beach, Romano?"

"Chigi!" Romano flipped over and buried his face in the pillow. Dammit, why did England have to say that out loud? Now those idiots –

"We're going to the beach again today? AWESOME!" Prussia yelled.

Dammit. "Not you, bastard, just us."

Denmark put on the most amazing sad-puppy face anyone had ever seen on his normally-cheerful face. "Aw, Romano! You don't want to hang out at the beach with us again?" But he couldn't maintain it, and grinned at his dark-haired friend.

"Ah, come on, it'll be all right." England leaned over to whisper in his friend's ear. "At least you won't have to hang out alone with Prussia at all…"

"Cheh, yeah, all right, let's all go out for breakfast and then go to the beach. Uh, but – you bastards are all sunburned! Won't this make it worse?" he asked in a happier voice.

"I'll just keep my shirt on today," Denmark said.

"Hey, that's a great idea, Den! Yeah, I'll do that too."

Romano sighed.

…

Over breakfast Prussia suddenly got a determined look on his face. "All right, listen. Iggy, do you ever fall asleep at the beach?"

Both Romano and Denmark rolled their eyes.

England frowned. "Sometimes. Don't spend much time at the beach, though."

"Ok, well, today we _are_ going to make this bet. Whoever falls asleep at the beach first loses the bet."

"Come on, albino potato, I'm already in debt to you for that stupid bet yesterday!"

"Well…I'll offer you this, Romano. If you take today's bet, and you win, I'll let you off the hook for yesterday's bet."

"Cheh, yeah, but what if I lose? You know I'm a beach sleeper. Plus you woke me up too early. It's almost a given that I'm going to lose a bet like that. Then I'll be stuck with _two_ potato bastard dinners!"

"Ah, no, today's bet won't be about dinner. Let's see…what will the prize be?"

Denmark finally managed to shove his oar in. "Wait, wait, wait a minute. Your bet is stupid, Prussia. That means as soon as Romano falls asleep, the betting is done! We need to make a bet that will last longer. Be too boring otherwise." He sipped his coffee. "You know he fell asleep right away yesterday."

"Did not! I was awake the whole time you bastards were out in the water."

"Huh, didn't look that way to _me_! Kesesese!"

"Anyway, you're assuming, again, that it's me who's going to lose."

"You just _said_ you would lose, Romano!" Denmark shook his head. "You're so – so –"

"Mercurial?" England offered.

"Idiotic, is more what I was thinking."

"Cheh, shut it, bastards."

"Ha ha, now you're even starting to _talk_ like Iggy!" Prussia cackled; Romano put his head down on the table. England poked him.

"Stop poking, bastard."

"So are we going to make a bet or not?"

"It seems like your bet is just worded wrong, wanker. You need to say 'whoever's the last one awake wins the bet' instead of 'first one to sleep loses.' Then just let the winner choose something."

"Fine. Last one awake wins the bet. What will we choose?"

"Not a potato bastard dinner!"

"I already told you, if you win, you don't have to do the yesterday one."

"But if I _lose,_ albino potato, then I _will_ have to do two! Why don't you get this?"

"Everybody shut up," Denmark said.

So they did.

"Now. Are we agreed that the last one awake wins the bet?"

Everyone nodded.

"Fine. Now, everyone pick something you want, if you're the winner."

The four spent a few moments in contemplation. "Ooh, I've got a good one. Losers chip in to pay for a week at Swissy's place." Denmark grinned and drank some more coffee, motioning the waitress over for a refill.

Prussia's eyes grew wider. "Awesome, awesome! Yes, I take that bet. It would be fun for the meeting! Way better than a hotel."

"What meeting, git?"

"In Switzerland next month. Den's taking me with him."

"Oh. That's nice." England didn't look at Romano.

"Well, bastard?"

"Well, _what_?"

"Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Dunno. What are the chances you'll actually say yes? It's a five-day meeting."

"Just _ask_ him, damn it."

"Fine. Will you go to the meeting with me, Romano?" England asked in a saccharine tone, drinking his tea, staring into space.

"Might as well, bastard, nobody else is going to be around."

England snorted. "There's just one more problem, you tossers. Switzerland's place is in Interlaken, and the meeting's in Geneva!"

"Oh." Faces fell after this announcement.

"Cheh, well, we could still do the bet, just not for the meeting. For the end of summer, maybe?"

"Nah, let's think of something else."

They idly picked at the remains of their food while the Skirmish Brothers tried to think of a bet reward.

"Home-cooked meal."

"Bullshit, you get that from me all the time, bastard. And I'm not sure I want you cooking for me! I mean, you live with you-know-who, and I really don't want to voluntarily come over there."

"Well, then, you come up with something."

"Trip to a spa. You can get all the backrubs you want."

"Oh, yeah, I'm glad you reminded me. I want another backrub today."

"Chigi! No more backrubs, albino potato."

"You've been giving Prussia backrubs?" Denmark was astonished.

"Yeah, I'd like to know about this, too, git."

"Argh." Romano rubbed his face. "I was putting sunscreen on him, that's all. Dammit."

England and Den both looked at Prussia suspiciously.

"Hey, don't look at me, he started it!"

"It's like eating breakfast in a bloody loony bin," England sighed.

"Shut up," Romano and Prussia both said.

"This is too weird. You two are never in this kind of cosmic harmony." England actually scooted away from Romano towards the window.

"Unless they're in collusion about something," Den pointed out. "What are you two cooking up?"

"Nothing! Dammit, why are you even talking about this?"

"Because it's true? Come on, what's going on between you two?"

Prussia snorted. "Nothing. Can we get back to the terms of the bet?"

"Fine, whatever." The island nation turned to stare out the window while the other three continued to toss out suggestions, argue, and generally make themselves irritating. He finished off the whole pot of tea while he avoided listening.

"Hey, bastard, why aren't you saying anything?" Romano finally noticed.

"_I_ don't care about this stupid bet! This is one of your deals. I don't mind going along with it, but I really don't give a damn about it. I just wanted to go to the beach."

"Shit, it's almost eleven! Come on, we're going to miss the whole day." Denmark paid the bill and they rapidly left the restaurant.

…

By the time they got to the beach it was pouring down rain.

"Dammit, it's like a fucking _curse_ or something."

All three of them turned to look at England.

"You three really are a bunch of lunatics. Why would I put a curse on the beach when I _want to be there_?"

"That makes sense," Denmark finally admitted.

"As if you could really curse the weather, bastard."

"Well…I bet he _could_, if he wanted to…kesesese…"

England simply tried to look enigmatic.

"What are we going to do now? Stick around and wait?"

"No, this is a really heavy rainstorm. Let's just go back to Romano's. We can play pool or something."

"We can take naps," England suggested.

"Good idea." Romano was still feeling a little sleepy and he was kind of glad the beach bet was apparently off.

"I don't want to take a nap!" Denmark yelled. "I had a full night's sleep and I'm wide awake and I want to do something!"

"So go do something! Make up your fucking minds. Dammit, it's like you're all suddenly three years old again!"

"Aw, Den, I bet you were really cute when you were three years old." Prussia ruffled his friend's spiky hair.

A low, irritated growl from Romano in the back seat was the only response to this bit of idiocy.

"Come here, git." England put his arm around Romano's shoulder. "Calm down, all right?" He bent to whisper in his friend's ear. "Maybe I can curse them into leaving."

Romano actually laughed at that and turned to whisper back. "You do that, bastard. I'll never give you grief about your mystic shit again."

"Deal."

"What are you two whispering about?" Prussia asked.

"Nothing. Just – let's go back to Romano's."

…

"Hey, Prussia, let's just leave these snoozers and go back home. I don't want to sit around and watch them take naps all day."

"Whatever you say. Is all our stuff in the car?"

"Yeah, we just need to get Romano's stuff out."

"All I had was my little bag, today. You guys can keep the champagne."

"Aw, thanks. You know, you really do—"

"_Don't_ say it. Do _not_. Just get my bag out of the car and go!"

Prussia's whole expression drooped, but he did as he was told.

"See you bastards later, at the meeting, if not sooner."

"Yeah. Thanks for letting us stay. See you, England!"

"Drive safely, gits." He and Romano stood on the porch in the rain and watched the car drive off.

When they got inside, Romano turned to his friend. "You're _not_ going to try and claim that you cursed them into leaving."

"Wanna bet? Come say that to me again at one o'clock."

"What? Why?"

"You'll see."

They went upstairs to nap. Around one, Romano woke up in a pool of sunshine. He stretched and looked out the window. The weather was beautiful, sunny and hot, not a cloud in the sky. He grinned and nudged his sleeping friend.

"Hey, wake up, mystic bastard, let's go to the beach!"

* * *

><p><em>I think Iggy is just really good at reading the weather, not that he actually did any magic here. But it'll gain him some credibility with Romano, so he might as well take advantage of it.<em>


	7. The Dangers of Chocolate

The Dangers of Chocolate.

The boys were all at the meeting in Geneva; Romano rooming with England, and Prussia, of course, with Denmark. Everyone had arrived the night before and they'd had a fun time at dinner, drinking a little more than usual, but not excessively so.

"Ugh," Denmark moaned, trying to wake up. "I really do not want to go to this meeting today." It was six in the morning; the meeting didn't start until eight, but Prussia was his usual obnoxious self and had risen early to do push-ups on the hotel room floor, despite his minor headache. Den had decided there was no point in continuing to sleep.

"Don't go," was Prussia's succinct response, as he changed to one-handed push-ups. "Romano and I were going to wander around town today while you guys were in meetings, anyway. Blow off the meeting and come with us!" He switched hands and continued his workout, not looking up at his friend.

"I doubt there's anything that critical I need to attend for, anyway. Sure, I'll go, if you let me sleep in. When you're done, go tell Swissy I'm indisposed. See if you can get somebody to take notes for me, too."

Prussia nodded with a grin and silently went back to his push-ups.

…

"Hey, bastard, aren't you supposed to be at the meeting?" It was a little bit before noon.

"Kesesese, Den has decided it would be more fun to hang out with us!"

Romano shrugged. "He's probably right. Where are we going to go?"

"Let's just wander around. Bound to find something to do while we walk, right?"

"Sure, let's walk."

Over the next hour the friends encountered and dismissed movies and a winery tour. They did stop for a nice little lunch, after wandering past some of the famous tourist attractions.

"I can't believe we're not finding anything to actually do_,_" Denmark grumbled. "For this I blew off a meeting?"

"Ah, you're probably not missing much, you know. They'll be bickering all morning. I feel bad for poor Iggy, stuck there, taking notes for you."

"What? You're making him take notes for you, bastard? That's cold."

"Hey, don't look at me! I told Prussia to find 'someone' to take notes for me! I thought he'd ask Sweden or Norway. Even Germany."

"Why the hell did you ask England, dammit?" Romano poked Prussia in the arm.

"Why not? I knew he'd understand, if I told him Den wanted to come out with us."

Romano started growling, not even troubling to stifle it. "You are…fucking obnoxious," he finally decided. "I – well, never mind."

"Never mind what?" Denmark asked, genuinely interested.

"Nothing! It's just – well – if I tell Prussia how much I hate him, he'll just say 'You know you love me, Romano,' which I most emphatically do not, and I don't want to get into an argument about it!"

Both the others laughed at him, and he put his head on the table.

"Come on, let's get out of here. There's got to be something interesting to do."

They wandered off again and came to the lakefront. Tourist boats were busily coming and going. One sleek black boat with gold trim was idling at the dock. It had a discreet sign on it – _Premier Chocolat__._

"Wonder what that is?" Romano asked idly. A young woman in black-and-gold livery heard him.

"Premier Chocolat is a boat tour on Lake Geneva which combines tastings of exquisite Swiss chocolates from different manufacturers with fine brandies and cognacs from around the world, each perfectly matched to the type of chocolate being served." She beamed at the three friends, only now seeming to notice their slouchy casual clothing. Her face fell, a little.

"How much? And how long does the tour take?" Prussia asked. Both Denmark and Romano laughed, knowing he didn't have any money.

The woman named a price. It was less than any of them had expected. "The tour is ninety minutes long."

"What the hell, let's do it," Romano said. "We can pay for the albino potato, right, Den? I mean, we all love chocolate and booze."

"Sir! We do not serve booze_._ We serve high-quality liquor."

Denmark bit his lip. "Want to go?" He nudged Prussia.

"Chocolate and boo—high-quality liquor is an awesome combination, Den. Yes, let's."

The boat was beautiful, with a lounge that seated about fifteen people. It was nearly full when they walked in, but they did manage to sit together.

"Kesesese, I do love chocolate. We should buy some to take with us when we go."

"Maybe they don't sell it on the boat? She said they have chocs from lots of different manufacturers. Maybe you have to go find them yourself when you're done?"

"Cheh, well, we can at least ask. I'm making you guys buy a box for England since you were so harsh to him."

"I already told you, it wasn't my idea!"

"But it's your fault_._ If you hadn't skipped the meeting, the stupid albino potato wouldn't have had to ask!"

"Shut up, Romano, you're getting too worked up about it."

Romano punched Prussia in the arm and then picked up a brochure to read about the boat tour. The boat left the dock and the servers brought around the first set of chocolate and liquor. A host stood at the front of the room and explained the origin of each, describing how they complemented each other. The friends tried both and found it to be a delicious combination.

"Hey, are we going to make a bet?"

"Not again," Romano muttered, but Prussia perked up.

"Sure, Den! What?"

"Hmm. I guess it all depends on how much booze – er, high-quality liquor – they serve us. I was going to suggest the 'who passes out first' bet, but I'm pretty sure they won't serve that kind of quantity on a tourist boat."

"Plus, bastard, do you really want to pass out on a tourist boat? How fucking humiliating. What if they threw you overboard?" Romano actually laughed at this idea.

"I'd take that bet, if I thought they'd serve us enough. But you're right, they probably won't." The server brought the second round.

"Well, now, wait a minute," Romano said, still looking at the brochure. "They do _sell_ booze on this boat."

"High-quality liquor."

"Shut up, potato brain. You know what I meant. We could buy a bottle of brandy. Whoever drinks the last shot in the bottle loses. You have to do a full shot each time and we have to go in order, so everybody gets a shot every time. It's just random luck of the draw for who will end up with the last shot." Romano sat back, pleased with his idea.

"I don't like bets like that," Prussia countered. "I need a bet where my innate awesomeness will show through. Random luck-of-the-draw stuff, that doesn't do it for me." He leaned back to allow the server to place the third round of chocolates and cognac on the table. The host continued to explain the servings, but the three friends were no longer actively listening.

"Yeah, your 'innate awesomeness' made you pass out first, last time we were drinking," Romano pointed out with a smirk. "Bastard."

"That was a fluke."

"Ha, then, let's buy three bottles of brandy, one for each of us; last man standing wins!" Denmark sampled the chocolate with its cognac accompaniment. "Damn. This is good stuff. Try it."

"Den, that's a fucking stupid idea. An entire bottle of brandy? We would pass out and then what if they did throw us overboard?" Romano tried the new arrival. "Yes, this is very good stuff indeed. Rum in the chocolate, if I'm not mistaken."

"Don't be stupid, Romano, if they threw us overboard and we were passed out, we'd drown, and they'd be liable for lawsuits." Prussia ate his chocolate. "Yes, it is rum. Stupid to serve cognac with a rum-based chocolate."

"So should we do it? We have to all get the same bottle, so it's a controlled experiment."

"Let's see if there's a brandy we like."

They all looked at the list of liquors for a few moments. Meanwhile, a server came around with the fourth menu item. Both Prussia and Romano ate and drank without looking up from the brochure; Denmark, more polite, or perhaps simply more interested in the excursion, listened to the host describe the cognac and chocolate.

"Ah, they have some good stuff here. The only little bottles they have are Remy Martin, though."

"Why do we have to get little bottles, bastard?"

"So we don't pass out? Honestly, Romano, you're the one who was worried about that!"

"You – Prussia, you are the most obnoxious…"

"But…you…know…you…love…me!" Prussia moved his chair back to avoid Romano's kick.

Romano sighed. "Fine. I love you. Now shut up."

"Awesome!" Prussia did a little victory dance - more of a victory wiggle - in his chair, gulping down his most recent drink. "I knew you did."

Denmark looked up from the brochure as the server brought the fifth item. "I don't believe he actually meant that, Prussia."

"Aw. I know it's true even if he didn't mean it."

"Shut up! I didn't mean it!"

They ate their fifth items, by now in a slightly happy alcoholic haze, not really bothered about the bet any longer. "This is really good stuff," Romano said happily. "I love chocolate."

Denmark laughed. "Yeah. It's the chocolate that's making you so happy."

"Hey, chocolate is full of awesome endorphins! It makes everybody happy! Here comes the next thing."

Romano shot back his brandy immediately and then leisurely ate the chocolate.

Prussia chewed up the candy and then poured the brandy into his mouth with it, making a slurry before swallowing it all.

Denmark tried to be a little more discreet, and nibbled on the candy while sipping his drink and listening to the host.

"I'm glad you came out with us today, Den," Romano offered, tracing his fingertip along the wood grain of their little table, grinning. "It's always so fun to hang out with you." He flashed a happy smile at his Danish friend.

Den just ruffled Romano's hair affectionately. "I'm glad, too, because it's so rare that I get to see you acting all goofy and mellow, especially around Prussia."

"Dammit." The server arrived with another serving.

Prussia missed this; he was staring out the boat window at the scenery. "Swissy sure has some nice places." He kept staring out the window wistfully, while Den and Romano polished off the new chocolate and cognac arrivals. Eventually the albino looked back at the table and saw his serving waiting for him, and idly ate and drank.

"Why do I feel drunk?" Den eventually asked. "Have we really had that much to drink?"

"Ask the guy when he comes back," Prussia suggested. "Ask him how much we've had."

"Chigi! Don't do that. We'll look like a bunch of lightweights! Let's count."

Eventually they agreed that this most recent sample had been the seventh.

"I probably wouldn't be so bad off if we hadn't gone out drinking last night," Den admitted. "I just want to go to sleep."

"You slept all morning!" Prussia pointed out. Denmark didn't respond. "Plus, we never did make our bet."

"Like it would matter, albino potato. You passed out first last time, you'd pass out first again this time."

"Shut up, Romano, that's not true. I only passed out because Iggy kept pushing your drinks at me, so that you wouldn't lose!" The server came by again; all three nations automatically ate the chocolates and drank the drinks, not really paying attention at this point.

"Cheh, well, whatever. Anyway, I really do not think they're going to serve us enough to get us drunk."

"Speak for yourself," Den laughed, putting his head on the table.

"Hey, if Den's going to pass out, we ought to make the bet right now! Kesesese!"

"No bet," Denmark groaned. "Won't take that one."

"Ha ha, blondie, looks like you lose!"

"I thought it was 'last man standing'? That means you could still lose, Romano." The server brought another tray of samples.

"You think I'm going to pass out? After only eight shots?" He started laughing maniacally as he drank, almost as bad as Prussia's laugh. They knew Denmark had passed out, because he didn't even react.

"More than eight. Ten? How much longer until this boat docks? Damn, now we're going to have to get a cab to drag him back."

"It was your idea to bring him along, potato, you deal with him!"

"That's just - unfair, Romano." Prussia hiccupped. The server came by with another tasting. Prussia drank Denmark's cognac and Romano ate his chocolate.

"It's not unfair. But, since it's Den, I guess I'll help. Don't you go passing out, too, because I can't manage both of you."

"Mmm," Prussia agreed, resting his head on the back of his chair.

"Don't! Dammit!" He poked Prussia fiercely in the stomach.

"Mmm," was the albino's only response.

"Dammit. Excuse me," he said to the server. "How much longer until the boat docks?"

"About ten minutes, sir."

"Thank you." The server left and Romano pulled his cell phone out, setting it on the table. "Hey, albino potato, did you actually pass out?"

No answer. The intensely-irritated Romano thought maybe he'd call England to come help him with these two drunk bastards.

…

Romano awoke in the dark, head pounding, an elbow jabbing him in his side. "Dammit, bastard, move over, you're poking me. Ow." He clutched his head, trying to push England away.

"Stop shoving!" came Denmark's voice from the middle of the bed. "Ow. My head."

"Den? What are you doing in our bed?"

"Will you two stop yelling?" Prussia was on the other side of Denmark. "My head is killing me. What the hell's going on, anyway? Why are we all in the same bed?"

There was a stomping noise and suddenly the room was blazing with light. All three of them covered their eyes, groaning, while England stood at the light switch like an avenging angel in striped pajamas.

"You bloody stupid wankers. I can't believe you went on a boat tour and got drunk enough to pass out. All three of you. In the middle of the bloody afternoon_._ I had to come rescue you!"

"Unh...Turn off the lights, Iggy, please…?" Prussia rolled face-down on the bed.

"No."

"Wh-why are they in our room, bastard?"

"Because I didn't know which room they were supposed to be in! The key cards aren't marked."

"Please lower your voice, England," Denmark begged. He covered his head with a pillow.

"No!" he roared, just to goad them.

"Grr…bastard…"

"After I was nice enough to come get you? That's harsh, Romano, especially coming from you. How much did you gits drink, anyway?"

"Dunno…what, maybe five shots," Prussia guessed.

"Five shots of what?"

"Cognac and brandy. But you know it was more than five shots. We were up to seven when we started talking about Swissy, remember? We counted them up, bastards."

England snorted. "Wow. High-class conversation."

Romano ignored this. "Will you please turn out the fucking light?"

"I'm waiting_,_" he tried to explain, "for these wankers to get out of our room!"

"Uh." Den tried to sit up. "What room are we in?"

"I told you, I don't know, because it's not marked on your key cards."

"I meant, what room are we in right now?"

"Oh. Seven hundred."

"Huh, aren't we in seven-oh-three, Den?"

"Yeah. Come on, let's go." They stumbled to the door, groaning some more. Before they left, they turned back to Romano.

"Thanks for hanging out with us, Romano. I had a good day. And…I love you too."

"Bastard! Ow…" Romano rolled face down, trying to hide his humiliation and his throbbing head.

"See you tomorrow," England sighed.

"Hey, thanks, Iggy. You're a good friend."

"Yeah, I know. I have your notes, Denmark; I'll give them to you in the morning."

"Thanks." The two gits left and England turned the lights off, sitting on the edge of Romano's bed.

"You tosser."

"Don't even tell me about it. My head is killing me."

"Good."

"Cold-hearted tea-drinking bastard."

"Do you want aspirin? Coffee?" He reached over and stroked Romano's hair gently.

_"_You drive me nuts."

"Fine. Shut it and go to sleep." England moved to the other bed and rolled away from his friend.

There was a silence, and then: "Thanks, bastard."

"Anytime, wanker."


	8. Modern Warfare

_No Denmark in this one; sorry._

…

**Modern Warfare.**

Prussia had just awakened from his afternoon nap when the doorbell rang. "Hey, West! Get the door!" There was no response, so he somewhat sleepily drifted to answer it. "What are you doing here?"

"Git. I have a meeting with your brother. We're going to discuss some business, and then maybe go out to dinner." England pushed rudely past Prussia into the house. "Where is he?"

"Dunno. I just woke up. Hey, _West_!" Still no response. "Well, make yourself at home; you're welcome to hang out a while, if you want to wait for him. Maybe he just went to the store for something."

"Bloody hell, this isn't like him. All right, I'll wait. Thanks."

"Want to play some Modern Warfare while we wait?"

"Are you kidding? You know I don't know how to do that stuff."

"Come on, Iggy, it's easy. I'll show you. If we have some beers then it will be even easier! Kesesese!"

"Stop calling me Iggy, won't you? I really hate that."

"What? You're kidding. America calls you Iggy all the time." They sat at the kitchen table.

"Do you think I'd actually be able to change his mind about something like that? If I told him to stop, he'd keep doing it anyway, just because he knows it irritates me."

Prussia pulled a few beer bottles from the fridge. "Well, I absolutely refuse to call you 'England.' That's so stuffy. Under that sour old exterior still beats the heart of a warmonger."

England gave him a very funny look. "Sour old exterior?"

"Hah, you know it's true."

"Well, you may be right, git, but…then the only other option is for you to call me by my human name."

"I don't even remember what that is! Here, have a beer."

"Figures. It's Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

"Well, if I'm going to call you Arthur, you have to call me Gilbert. Nobody ever calls me Gilbert anymore."

England considered this. "All right, Gilbert, you've got a deal. No more 'Iggy.'"

"It's a deal, Arthur." They toasted each other with the bottles before drinking. "So, are we going to play?"

"But you know I have no idea about that stuff."

"Come on. We can start with a training mission." They took their bottles to the living room and Gilbert turned on the console and TV. "I'm glad you're here. West usually won't let me do this."

"Why the hell does he even have the console, then? I have a hard time picturing him playing video games." Arthur sat on the couch and caught the controller that Gilbert threw at him. "What are all these buttons? Bollocks."

"Just be calm, Ig-Arthur. All right? Let me get it set up and I'll show you."

The game booted up. Gilbert took a few minutes to explain the nuances of the controller and the game. "So we'll just start out with a training mission; I'll take the lead, and you be my backup. I'll tell you when to shoot."

"Screw that; I'll shoot when I feel like it."

"No, you can't, because you might shoot the wrong people! It's not like old wars when everybody had nice distinct uniforms on."

Arthur growled. "I need another beer if I'm going to hang out with you any longer."

"Fine, hold on. Are you all right with keg beer? We have a couple different ones on tap."

"Sure, surprise me with some 'awesome' German beer. Need help?"

"No, just hang out, drink your beer, play the game if you want."

Arthur declined to play the game alone and spent his time examining the controller buttons while Gilbert pulled a few fresh beers.

"OK, Ig-Arthur, damn, that is so hard to remember, are you ready to play?"

"Might as well get started, wanker."

The training mission went well; Arthur was attentive enough (and uneasy enough) to follow all of Gilbert's instructions to the letter, and they were very pleased at the outcome.

"That's it?" Arthur asked. He went to the bar and poured himself another drink.

"Well, that's about it for training missions. Want to play the real game? You versus me?"

"Ha ha…yes. But I'm getting hungry. I was supposed to have dinner with Germany, remember?"

"Yeah, I didn't eat yet either. Want to order a pizza?"

"Good idea…Gilbert. You order, I'll pay. Get two, I'm really hungry." Arthur knew as well as everyone else that Gilbert was chronically broke.

"Awesome. I was afraid I was going to have another boring night!" He phoned for the pizza.

"All set? Let's play," Arthur demanded. "We can stop when the pizza gets here, right?"

They played again, bouncing on the couch, shooting and yelling. Gilbert won, but Arthur did a pretty good job.

"Good work! Just for that, you can have another beer."

"Git." The doorbell rang; he handed Gilbert some money for the pizza.

The albino came back beaming. "This smells great. Thanks, Arthur. I haven't had good pizza in a long time."

They took a break from playing to eat and drink a bit. "Why are you so into video games, anyway?" Arthur asked.

"Why not? Something to pass the time. Get me a beer."

Arthur complied. "I guess with you being an ex-nation, you don't really have a lot to keep you occupied."

"Huh, that's the truth! I keep asking West to give me some kind of work to do, but he won't." Gilbert burped. "Man, I love pizza."

"Maybe he realizes you'd be totally inept at anything that didn't involve fighting," Arthur suggested nastily.

"You're so brutal, Iggy."

"Wanker. Are we going to play some more?"

"Of course!" They polished off their pizza and beer, refilling their glasses. "Hang on, I need the bathroom."

"Hm. Good idea."

After they were done with that, they stepped up to a more intricate map. "You're going down, Junker boy," Arthur sneered.

"Like you could take me down, tea-drinker!" Gilbert hopped off the couch and began jumping up and down in place as they played. Both he and Arthur got more and more agitated, yelling at the game, yelling at each other, as the carnage intensified.

Gilbert won the round. "See? Too awesome for you, Arthur." He turned on the stereo and started blasting some classic rock.

"I'm going to win the next one! Get me another beer."

"Fine. Don't eat the last piece of pizza!"

"You're a complete git. We still have a whole pizza we didn't even start yet!"

"Oh yeah. Kesesese! Open the box, I'm still hungry."

They opened the second pizza and ate a few slices rapidly, eager to get back to the game. "Where's my beer?"

"Oh, I left them on the bar. Sorry." Gilbert got up to fetch the beers.

"You do have the best beer," Arthur admitted. "Ours are good, but yours are better."

"Naturally. Come on, let's play."

Another, more difficult map; another bout of shouting and leaping about. Gilbert won the round.

"You really think you can beat me, Artie?"

"Bloody hell! Artie is just as bad as Iggy!"

"Get over yourself, old man," Gilbert laughed. "You're not going to beat me tonight."

Instead of responding to this, Arthur said, "It's hot in here." He peeled off his shirt and threw it aside.

"You're right." Gilbert unbuttoned his shirt, but didn't take it off. "Are we having more pizza?"

"Might as well; there's not much left." They polished off the second pizza and Gilbert flung the box into the corner of the room, accidentally knocking over Arthur's beer in the process.

"Bloody hell, Gilbert!"

"Heh, sorry, I'll get you another one."

"Aren't you going to clean that up?"

"You're being too uptight again! It's no problem. West will do it later!"

Arthur was mellow enough from the quality German beer that he didn't argue with this implausible statement. Gilbert gave him another beer. They drank happily for a minute before turning back to the game.

During this higher round, Arthur began snarling at the screen, very intent on beating his friend, but Gilbert still won the round. "Bollocks!" Arthur yelled, flinging the controller on the floor.

"Don't do that! West won't buy me a new one if I break it." Gilbert picked up the controller lovingly and set it on the couch.

Arthur snarled again. "I'm going to the bathroom, and when I get back, we are going to play again, and I am going to take you down!"

"I'd like to see that!" Gilbert called after his retreating back. He took his flapping, sweaty shirt off and shot it across the room into the empty pizza box. "Score!"

…

"Thank you for dinner, Germany! It was quite good, wasn't it, _fratello?"_

"Dammit."

The three of them walked up to the front door of Germany's house and stopped short, hearing the screaming and loud music from within. "Ve, is Prussia having a party tonight?"

"I certainly hope not." Germany seemed afraid to unlock the front door.

"Open it up, bastard, maybe it's Denmark."

"Romano, that's way too much noise for just two people!"

"You don't know Prussia," Romano and Germany said in unison. Romano looked appalled at this. Germany simply opened the door.

"That's really loud! It can't possibly be just Prussia and Denmark, ve."

"Don't put it past him," Germany cautioned, leading the three of them towards the living room.

"You'll never live through my Blitzkrieg!" they heard Prussia yell, above the music and the noise of shooting.

"Who actually won the war, you jackbooted wanker?"

The newcomers all stopped short and looked at each other; Romano then broke away and ran into the living room. The other two followed hastily.

The two combatants were deep in the middle of the next round – Arthur was winning – leaning against each other, shouting, trying to shoulder each other out of the way of the TV – when they heard Germany's voice behind them. "Prussia! Oh…England…"

"Hey, Germany!" Arthur yelled without turning around.

"West! Come have a beer!" Gilbert hollered, turning, and freezing, when he saw the three of them standing there staring. "Whoops."

Germany had apparently just remembered he'd had a meeting scheduled with England, because he had covered his face with his hands. Veneziano had his usual beaming, clueless smile…and Romano was staring at the drunk, shirtless gamers in shock.

"Ah-ha!" Arthur crowed, having taken advantage of Gilbert's inattention to win the round. "Told you I'd beat you!" He turned and grabbed Gilbert in an exuberant hug, spinning him around, not stopping when he noticed the others. "Romano! Hi!" He finally stopped twirling and beamed at his friend in amazement, still with one arm around the albino's waist. "Come to play?" He let go of Gilbert. "Hi, Veneziano."

"Bastard, you…what…?" Romano was speechless.

Gilbert decided beer was the only way to rescue this situation. "Have a beer, everybody! We're drinking the Holsten, West. Hope you don't mind." He crossed to the bar and poured fresh beers for himself and Arthur, who was still beaming at the stricken Romano from across the room, idly dangling the controller from his fingers.

"Ve, you guys have been eating German pizza, haven't you?" Veneziano's delicate nose wrinkled in the air. "And drinking a lot of beer!"

"Kesesese, yes, we have!" Gilbert cackled. "We have had an awesome time tonight. Arthur is a very good gamer!"

"You play video games, bastard?"

"Not until tonight. But it's fun. I'm kicking his albino arse!" He turned back to the TV, laughing maniacally. "Are we playing another round, Gilbert?"

Germany turned down the stereo. "England, I'm terribly sorry I forgot about our meeting. I—"

"That's all right; you were distracted by Veneziano, weren't you?" Arthur interrupted, choosing the next map. "We can meet some other time. Come on, Gilbert, drink your beer and let's play. Hey, can these guys play too?"

"No, you can't have more than two on an Xbox. Unawesome, I know, but the screen splits up too much."

"Bollocks."

"Come on, Veneziano; let's leave the gamers to their game." Germany took the younger man's hand to lead him from the room. "Romano? Are you coming with us?"

"Cheh, like I'd go with you idiots when I can hang out with my friends. Go. Besides, I have some questions for these guys." Germany shrugged and left with Veneziano.

Gilbert looked a little worried at that, and just now seemed to realize that both he and Arthur were shirtless. He cut his eyes to his shirt in the pizza box, and realized it would be impossible to retrieve without him looking like an idiot. "Anyway, it just looks funny. We were just overheated, that's all. Come and sit down, or grab a beer." He picked up his controller and turned back to the game. They started the round a little less obnoxiously this time.

Romano got a beer for himself, scowling at it, but drinking it nonetheless. "What are you talking about, potato brain?"

"Why we're not wearing shirts!"

"Oh, yeah, I forgot!" Arthur was too intent on the game to bother about his shirt.

"Huh, I hadn't even noticed. Hey, bastard, are you going to pay any attention to me, or just play video games?" He poked England in the bare back.

"I have all night to pay attention to you, Romano! I need to beat Gilbert!"

Gilbert's eyes widened. Romano was going to be pissed about that.

But no. "Bastard." The Italian flung himself down on the couch. "What I want to know is why are you guys calling each other Arthur and Gilbert instead of your nation names?"

"Not important," Gilbert said, being a little more attentive to the game. He needed to be – Arthur was thrashing him again! "Damn it!"

"I told you, you Teutonic tosser, you may have been a bloody mighty military power at one time, but you'll never beat this sour old warmonger again!"

"Damn!" Gilbert threw the controller on the couch as Arthur won the round.

"You bastards are unbelievable."

"I agree that I am unbelievable," Arthur crowed. "I am unbelievably good at this! Who would have suspected it?" He came over and gave Romano a brief hug. "You're so cute. It's great to see you."

Romano turned bright red and pulled a pillow over his face, rolling his eyes.

"You're a – a bastard, is what you are," Gilbert laughed back at him. "I bet if we changed to another game, you'd suck just like you did when we started."

"Shut it, git. It just proves I'm a fast and focused learner. You don't get to be a mighty empire like the United Kingdom without picking up some skills along the way. Come on, Romano, want to play?"

Romano took the pillow away from his face. "Sure. Let me play against Prussia, though. If you're so fucking great, then I don't stand a chance of beating you."

Arthur handed him the controller with a grin. "Want a beer?"

"Yes, please!" Gilbert said. "Give one to Lovino, too."

"What? Bastard, stop calling me by that stupid, girly name!"

Both Gilbert and Arthur looked at their friend, considering.

"Yeah," Arthur finally said. "Keep calling him Romano."

"Deal," replied the albino. "Now get us some beer." Arthur hurried behind the bar to get the drinks.

Within two minutes Romano was just as frenzied as the other two, desperately trying to beat Gilbert, and Arthur had turned the stereo back up, dancing around the room.

Gilbert won the round.

Romano drank some beer to console himself. "Dammit. Here, bastard, you play again."

"Play against me, Romano! I'll use Gilbert's controller."

"Uh…but if you keep beating him, and he keeps beating me, then I don't stand a chance, idiot!"

"Oh, come on, I'll go easy on you." He gave Romano the sweet smile, a bit sillier than usual thanks to all the beer.

"Cheh, yes, all right, just one round." Gilbert poured more beer while the other two battled it out on screen, hollering and bumping each other in front of the TV. Arthur won.

"See, bastard, I told you!" Romano drank some beer to cool down.

"Your problem is that you're still wearing a shirt," Gilbert pointed out. "Arthur and I both started playing much better once we took our shirts off."

Romano gave him a very skeptical look. "That's the stupidest – most stupid – that's just dumb!"

"Try it and see?" Arthur suggested.

Romano rolled his eyes and finished his beer. "Fine. No poking." He took his shirt off and threw it on the couch. "Now who am I playing against?"

"Me again!" This from Arthur, who came over grinning to lift Romano up with a big bear hug.

"Get off me, drunk boy. Let's play."

They played a round, and Romano did do better, but Arthur won.

"Kesesese! My turn, I want to play Romano again."

As Arthur stepped back to allow Gilbert his playtime, he saw a note slide under the door. "Hey, wait." He picked it up and read it. "Ha, Germany and Veneziano want to go to bed and they want us to shut up! Ha ha! They sent us a note!"

"Chigi! That damn potato bastard, corrupting my _fratello…_" Romano threw the controller down in the middle of the round, stomping towards the door.

"Romano?" Arthur put a soft hand on his arm to stop him with a pleading look. Gilbert was still shooting wildly at Romano's inert character.

"Wh-what?" He blushed, looking at the soft expression on his friend's face.

"Just – just let them be?"

"Dammit, why are you always so sympathetic towards that bastard?"

Gilbert continued to yell and shoot.

"Because I always think how it would feel if Veneziano tried to stop us being together, and I hate that idea."

Romano turned red, but he went back to the couch and drank some more of his beer. "You're a fucking bastard," he muttered. Arthur just grinned at him.

Gilbert finally finished pulverizing Romano's character and flopped back on the couch. "Damn, this is exhausting."

"Then stop playing, albino potato."

"I think I will. I can't decide if I want to eat more, drink more, or go to bed!"

"Go to bed," Romano and Arthur chorused.

Gilbert smirked at them. "Yeah, yeah. You guys want to stay? We can sleep in here. I'll get some blankets and stuff."

"Yeah, you owe me a couple of nights," Romano agreed. "Go get the blankets."

"You staying, Iggy?"

"Wanker. Yes, _Prussia__,_ I'm staying."

…

_Wah. What an exhausting chapter. I lived in Kiel for a while so I'm partial to Holsten._

_Inspiration strikes in the oddest ways. I have a pair of jackboots that needed to go to the repair shop. The shop is in Kirkland. Thus, we get a mostly Prussia/England story._


	9. Sauced on Coffee

_I felt it was time to revisit Prussia's reaction to caffeine. Unfortunately Denmark ran away with the story. Maybe he's trying to get back at me for leaving him out of the last chapter._

…

**Sauced on Coffee.**

England and Romano were just settling down to eat some zabaglione when the doorbell rang. "Dammit."

The island nation heard some loud voices and a slamming door, and then his friend came back with Prussia and Denmark in tow.

"Arthur!" The albino dropped his bag and ran over to hug his awesome gamer friend.

"Hello, Gilbert_." _He used one arm to squeeze him briefly around the waist without getting up. Romano merely shook his head and rolled his eyes.

"What the hell's all that about?"

"Bastards. Some secret club handshake kind of thing. They won't tell me." Denmark and Prussia sat at the table with them and Romano resignedly got some extra plates and spoons to serve them some dessert.

"What are you wankers doing here, anyway? I didn't realize you had plans for tonight, Romano," England said, with a bit of a dangerous look in his eye.

"No, no, he didn't have any plans," Denmark put in. "We were in the area and tired, so we thought of coming and spending the night here!"

Both England and Romano looked at their overnight bags. "So you _just happened_ to bring overnight stuff, bastards?"

"Kesesese, he's so observant, Den, I told you he'd figure it out. No, we were totally bored, and West wouldn't let us hang around the house, so we decided on a road trip."

"Why wouldn't Germany let you hang around? You're such _calm, easygoing_ gits…"

Denmark ignored this. "Got anything to drink?"

"Coffee's the only thing I'm going to serve you with zabaglione, dammit. If you want anything else you'll have to wait until we're done with the dessert."

"Yeah, give me some coffee, I guess."

"Any of you other bastards want coffee?"

"Yes, please," from England, and "Yes, yes, yes!" from Prussia.

"Fine." Romano left to go make coffee.

"So what kind of plans do you and Romano have for tonight?"

"Nothing, really," England answered, "we cooked the dessert together, and that was about all we'd decided on, so far."

Prussia was eagerly eating his dessert, even though Romano hadn't returned with the coffee yet. "This is awesome stuff."

"Wait, wait," Denmark said, looking doubtfully at his dessert dish. "Romano let _you_ help cook?"

"Wanker! I can cook!"

Unfortunately Romano returned to the room in time to hear this and snorted. "I let him _help_," he pointed out. "Even so, we almost screwed it up. The bastard is unbelievable."

"You're always so bloody _nice_ to me. Git. I did my best."

"That's what worries me!"

Coffee in hand, everyone sat down to enjoy the delicious dessert. "Mm. Is there any more of this? I love coming to your house, Romano, it's always so tasty!"

"That's all I am to you bastards, a restaurant, isn't it?"

"Completely not true! You are also an awesome hotel!"

"Hey," Romano growled to England, nudging him with his elbow, "come out into the kitchen for a minute." They left the room to the accompaniment of some not-so-thinly-veiled snickering from Prussia.

"I know you weren't planning to stay tonight, but…could you? I, uh, I really don't want to deal with that bastard on my own, and ever since the gaming night you seem to be able to handle him a little better."

"Huh. That's the only reason you want me to stay."

"Dammit!" Romano hissed. "It's not like we can – can –"

England poked him. "That wasn't what I meant anyway, git, I meant you didn't want me to stay for my charming companionship."

His friend snorted and punched him in the arm. "So will you stay?"

"After you insulted my cooking help?"

Romano growled again.

"Yes, all right. I don't mind. You just want me to babysit Prussia, then?"

"Please."

"Wow. You never say please. I'll do it."

"Good, let's go back in there."

…

"So…Gilbert…has Germany given you any work to do?"

"No." They'd moved to the living room; Romano was in the kitchen, brewing more coffee. "But, let's be fair, Arthur, I haven't asked him again yet."

"Seriously, what are you two up to?" Denmark asked, sipping the remains of his cold coffee. "What's all this Gilbert and Arthur nonsense?"

"It's really not that important. I don't know why you and Romano are getting so worked up about it, Den."

Romano came back with the pot of coffee as Prussia said this. "Cheh, I'm not worked up about it, bastards. You can call each other Lucy and Ethel if you want to."

"Huh. I wanna be Lucy," Prussia laughed.

"Figures. Wanker."

"I think we need something stronger to drink," Denmark said to Romano.

"I agree. I'll be right back."

However, much to Denmark's surprise, Romano did not return with booze, but with espresso.

"What are you trying to do to me?"

"What are you talking about? It's just espresso. Best stuff on the planet."

Denmark growled, but then he noticed both England and Prussia were eagerly drinking the bitter brew, so he drank his as well. "You know this is going to end up keeping me awake all night."

"Sounds like it's time for one of your stupid bets," England scoffed.

"Yes, yes!" from Prussia. "First one to fall asleep loses."

"No, bastard. Last one awake wins. Remember?"

"Oh, yeah. Okay. Bring some more espresso."

"Chigi! I'm _not_ a fucking _waiter, _albino potato!"

"Fine. Tell me how to use the machine and I'll do it. This stuff is awesome." Prussia drank the dregs.

"Wait a minute, that's really a stupid bet. You're _all_ going to be awake extra-late tonight. You should say 'first one asleep wins.'" This sounded reasonable to the island nation.

"That could work. Let's think about it."

"Uh – Romano – are we really sure this is a good idea?" Denmark asked. "Remember when we were at the coffee shop and they kicked us out because of Prussia?"

Oh yeah. "Hmm. Well, I don't mind trying it. At least we're in my house and not a public place. Just don't break anything, bastard."

"Kesesese! I won't. I promise."

England sighed. "Want me to go make more espresso?"

"Please?" Romano tried to give him a sweet, appealing grin, but he just couldn't manage it.

"Twice 'please' in one night? Bloody hell. I'm glad I stayed! This is going to be some kind of record. You're going to owe me." He grinned a little maliciously at Romano, who shrugged dismissively.

England then whisked back into the kitchen to brew some more espresso.

Denmark finally finished his first little cup. "I do drink this once in a while. It isn't so bad. It's a little bitter, but no worse than some beers. It just worries me that I'm going to be bouncing off the walls all night."

"It's way better than beer, bastard."

"I wouldn't be so sure of that," Prussia said in a rather declamatory tone. "I don't think you can actively compare beer to espresso. However, that said, I do have to tell you this is some freakishly delicious espresso."

Both his friends looked at him very, very strangely.

"What? What? I just thought I'd elevate the tone of our usual discussions!"

"I thought our usual discussions were awesome? How can you elevate awesome?" Den asked irritably.

"Shut up and drink, my Danish friend," Prussia said airily. He yelled towards the kitchen, "Hey, Ethel! Where's the espresso?"

"You're a _wanker~_, Lucy!"

…

"So…what does the winner get?" asked England, after they'd settled in with the next round of espresso.

"Oh yeah! We didn't even talk about it. Well?"

They were all silent for a little while, thinking about this.

"I can't think of anything."

"Because your brain is made of potatoes."

"Will you two just shut up?" Denmark looked really angry. "I can't take much more of this."

The other three all stared at him in astonishment. England even backed away from him a little.

"What? What are you all looking at me like that for?"

"You – you just seem to be…overreacting?" Prussia suggested. "We always talk to each other this way!"

"Seriously, bastard, maybe you should stop drinking the espresso."

"Only if we're going to switch to booze. I don't need to be keyed up any more than usual."

"You can't do that. You'd pass out, and win the bet, which is completely unfair to the rest of us." Romano smirked.

"Doubt it. I bet I can get bombed and _still_ stay up later than you three." Denmark buffed his nails on his shirt.

"Now that _would_ be awesome, but…no, Den, absolutely not. It's not right for you to be drinking wine while the rest of us are drinking espresso. You have to have espresso or coffee. Or decaf. No booze."

"What? That's idiotic!"

"No, git, it's not. I agree with Gilbert and Romano. If you switch to booze you automatically lose the bet."

"Son of a bitch," Denmark muttered. "Ganging up on me? I expected better from you guys."

The other three stared at him resolutely.

"Fine. I'll take regular coffee next time. Decaf is way too girly."

"Good, because I don't usually have any decaf in the house, bastard! Hang on; let me go get a pot of coffee started. Think about what we're going to do tonight. I don't want to sit around and argue about coffee all night while we wait for someone to fall asleep."

He returned with a lazy grin. "The coffee's brewing. Should be done in about ten minutes."

"You really need some video games, Romano."

"_Chigi_! No, because then you'd be over here _all the time_, when the potato bastard kicked you out. There is no way I'm getting a video game console. _No way_."

"How about a board game?" Denmark suggested. "At least if you had Monopoly or something it would take us a long time to finish the game, while we waited to fall asleep."

"I have Monopoly. Want to do that?" Romano headed towards the closet.

"Is it Italian Monopoly, though? I don't read Italian very well."

"What? You bastard. How can you call yourself 'awesome' if you don't read Italian? No, don't answer that, I don't even want to get into it. I have Italian Monopoly and regular Monopoly." He rummaged around in the closet. "Which one do we want?"

"What? _What_?" England's voice was panicky. Romano turned to see him recoiling from the intense glares of the other two.

"Oh," Romano realized.

"'Oh' _what? _What's the _matter_ with you gits?"

"Regular Monopoly is American, Arthur. Are you sure you're OK with it?"

"You three really are complete idiots, you know that? It's just a damn board game! And besides, I've never been to Atlantic City, so…don't be delicate about trampling on my bad memories. I _have_ no memories of that place."

"Suit yourself," Romano said, pulling out the regular Monopoly box.

…

An hour later, tempers were flaring as dice rolled and cash changed hands. Romano and England had taken turns continuing to serve espresso and coffee to their friends. Surprisingly, Prussia was quite well-behaved, except when he managed to score a wad of cash from one of the others due to his intense hotel-building schemes. Denmark, on the other hand, was furious.

"Damn you, Prussia! Stop cheating!"

"Gilbert isn't cheating. I've been watching to make sure."

"That hurts, Arthur, that really hurts, that you think I'd be cheating."

"I bet you would, though, bastard."

"Kesesese! Maybe. But tonight I'm just having fun watching Den lose his temper."

"It's not _fun._ Look, let's take a little break." Denmark sat up and stretched.

"Good idea. Why don't we set up the blankets and stuff now, then we won't have to do it later?" Prussia turned a beaming grin to Romano.

"Cheh, yes, all right, you come help me," he agreed, poking the albino. The two of them left the room.

"Seriously, Denmark, are you all right?" the island nation asked quietly. He moved the Monopoly board and things to the center of the floor so they'd all have room to spread out around it.

"It's this damned caffeine! Ah, I'm going to use the bathroom, I'll be right back." England watched him slope off and went to the kitchen for more espresso and to start a fresh pot of coffee to keep Denmark on track. He idly read the bag of coffee beans, smiling and waiting for his espresso to finish brewing. When it was all done, he carried everything out to the living room.

"Here, bastard, set up your bed." Romano threw a pillow and blanket at England, taking care not to disturb the Monopoly board. He grabbed his own pillow and covers and set it up so he could lie down while playing the game.

"Wait, wait, we should make it like a map, or a compass! That would be awesome!"

"What are you talking about _now?"_

"Well, if I sleep on the east side of the board…and you sleep on the south side…then Den can sleep on the north side, and Ig-Arthur on the west? Right?"

"Whatever makes you happy, albino potato." They arranged themselves according to Prussia's new scheme and settled in.

When Denmark returned there were no more blankets or pillows left. "What? Why didn't you get me any blankets?"

"Whoops."

England started laughing at the look on Prussia's face, but Romano realized what had happened. "Sorry, Den, I forgot the mystic bastard was here, and I only brought enough bed stuff for three. I'll go get some more."

"You…_forgot_…England was here?" Denmark's eyes widened and he stepped back from where the island nation was reclining.

England, on the other hand, surprised them all by merely flapping his hand. "I'm used to the wanker's inattention," he snorted, counting his Monopoly cash, "especially when you guys are here. Just get Den some stuff."

"Oh, boy…you two have the weirdest relationship," Prussia laughed.

…

"Romano…I think we need to eat something. I feel like I'm floating away."

"Can't handle caffeine, can't handle coffee, I tell you, Den, you're a total lightweight."

"Shut up." Denmark punched Prussia in the arm. Prussia retaliated.

"Stop fighting in my house, please. Let's go into the kitchen and see what we can find. Hey, albino potato, make Denmark some more coffee. I'll do more espresso when we get the food figured out." Prussia moved to comply, reading the bag of beans while the coffee brewed.

England rummaged in the pantry while Romano looked in the fridge. They found some cookies, the remains of a cake, and the end of the zabaglione.

"Sugar and caffeine? Not sure Prussia can handle it," Den sneered, and Prussia, strangely calm, simply poked him in the arm.

"You're too tense tonight, Denmark. So not awesome."

"Stop giving me coffee!"

"Then you lose the bet, git."

"Kesesese~!" Prussia realized. "Denmark is _sauced on coffee!_"

Romano and even Denmark laughed at that one. The island nation just focused on his dessert, not really wanting to know.

…

By the time they'd finished the game, it was nearing sunrise. "Hey, are any of you bastards sleepy yet? Want to go out and get breakfast?"

"Might as well," Prussia replied. "Since Arthur cleaned us out at Monopoly. I'm never playing you at Monopoly again."

"Soon we're going to run out of things to play, Gilbert, if you refuse to play because I keep beating you!"

"Chigi! Forget about that. Who's driving?"

"I'll drive," Denmark offered. "I think I _am_ sauced on coffee." He gave a short laugh and ruffled his own spiky hair.

…

They slipped into a booth. Adrenaline and caffeine were beginning to drain away, and they were all looking a little tired, but nobody felt like sleeping yet.

"May I take your order?" the waitress asked. "Coffee for anyone?"

Denmark groaned and put his head on the table. "Orange juice…_please_…" he begged.

"Orange juice for everyone," said the albino airily, and the waitress left. Denmark kept his head on the table.

"That was a very fun night, Romano! Thanks for letting us stay."

"Yes, fine, whatever. Next time we have to stay somewhere else."

"You're always welcome to stay at my place, if West doesn't try to kick us out."

"Forget it! Forget I said anything! I don't want to stay there!"

The waitress returned with the orange juice and they placed their orders. Denmark returned his head to the circle of his arms.

England nudged Romano with his elbow and pointed to Denmark. "Think he's asleep?"

"Nah, he's just faking it."

"I don't know about that." This from Prussia. "I've read that with an overabundance of caffeine the body can switch right over into sleep. Like crashing."

Both his friends stared at him. "Elevating the tone of our discussions again, bastard?"

"Something like that."

"But, _I_ have read that espresso actually contains less caffeine than regular drip coffee," England put in. "People think espresso is stronger, because it tastes stronger, but it's not."

This brought Denmark's head right off the table. "You've been _cheating_!" he yelled, then lowered his voice when he noticed other restaurant patrons staring at him. "You gave me stronger coffee _on purpose_?"

The other three looked at each other and laughed. "As a matter of fact, no, bastard. We've been giving you decaf all night." They laughed some more at the Dane's perplexed expression.

"You _what_? You said you didn't have any decaf!"

"I said I didn't _think_ I had any decaf. But I did. Wanted to see how you'd react."

"I noticed that when I made you a pot of coffee, wanker, but figured Romano had done it for a joke, so I didn't say anything."

"And I noticed it when we were looking for something to eat and I made you a pot of coffee, Den! Kesesese!"

Denmark put his head down on the table again and groaned. "I think I should automatically win the bet." The other three stared at him in silence for so long that he raised his head again. "What? It makes sense to me."

"There's something wrong with your brain, you Nordic idiot," Prussia said, cuffing him lightly. "If you drank _decaf_ all night…_and_ you failed to fall asleep _anyway_, then…you can't possibly win the bet! You could only win if you'd been drinking – uh – whatd'youcallit – 'real-caf'?"

"You gits didn't even decide what the winner was going to get, so you might as well just forget the whole bet."

Some bemused thinking about this, while the waitress brought their meals.

"Yes, you're right. Nobody wins."

"Bastards."

Denmark just shook his head. "Never has a nation felt so cheated by his allies."

"Shut up and eat. I want to get back home and go to bed."

…


	10. Football

**Football.**

Here at another world meeting, Denmark and England were both mighty irritated, listening to nations waffle on about the usual nonsense with no resolution. Tangential discussions led nowhere, or led back to the beginning of the argument. Den had his head on the table and England was doodling fairies and tomatoes on his note pad, drinking bad iced tea.

The worst part was knowing it was a beautiful day and that Prussia and Romano were out having fun somewhere in town together.

_Want to play some football after the meeting?_ England wrote on the note pad, and shoved it under Denmark's nose.

"Sure, if we can find someplace to play," Denmark whispered.

Well, at least that would be something to take the tedium of this lousy meeting out of their minds.

…

"Yes! I am so awesome at football. I'd love to play."

"Cheh. Every time you play something against the mystic bastard, you lose! But, it's your funeral, bastard. I'm in."

"Fine, gits. There's a pitch at the high school down the road. Meet you outside the hotel in fifteen minutes?"

"Yeah, come on, Prussia, let's go get changed."

"Hey, guys!" America called, coming out of the conference room. "Prussia! Romano! I didn't know you guys were here. Why didn't you come to the meeting?"

"Why would we, bastard? When we could wander around this charming city and enjoy your culture?"

"Oh, that's a very good point," the host nation replied.

All four of the others bit their lips.

"What are you doing tonight?" America went on.

"Going to play some football. Want to join us?"

"Sure! I'll go home and get my stuff."

"We'll meet you at that school on the corner?"

"Sounds good to me."

They split up to get changed.

…

"Hey, bastards, where are we going to get a ball?"

"Good point."

"Do you think America might bring one?" They turned to England as the authority on America.

"I don't know; he's pretty absent-minded sometimes. Let's see if we can find one in case he forgets. Maybe the hotel has one. Or maybe we could use one from the school."

The hotel had a ball they could use, so they sauntered off down the street together. It was a great early fall evening.

"What'd you gits do all day?"

"Arthur, that's so mean of you. Stop calling me a git."

"All right, _Lucy_, what did you and Romano do all day?"

"Nothing much. Wandered around, ate some crappy pizza, drank some crappy coffee."

"Went to a crappy museum, too, bastard."

"Oh yeah. Forgot about that."

"What was so bad about it?"

"Just boring. Took us about half an hour to get through it and wasn't interesting at all."

"What amazes me," Denmark laughed, "is that the two of you apparently made it through the entire day without fighting. Or am I wrong?"

"You're wrong. Romano was bitching at me all day. But I let it slide."

"Chigi! I'm a man, you idiotic potato. I don't _bitch_."

The other three just laughed at him.

When they reached the field, they found to their dismay that another group was using it. However, when they realized the others were Germany, Veneziano, Spain, France and Austria, Romano immediately collared his friends.

"Let's play against those bastards, come on, let's kick the shit out of them!" He had a very fierce look on his face.

"I don't mind! I love thrashing Austria. And it's always fun to beat West at anything. He gets very pouty afterwards."

"Uh – but your other buddies are over there…you know, your Bad Touch wankers?"

"Who cares? They won't care. A friendly game of football is not going to be a problem."

Denmark laughed. "The way Romano's acting, I doubt it's going to be very friendly." Romano was indeed standing there jittering, scowling at the other players, making little snarling noises.

"Well, there's only one more problem. There are only four of us."

"America's coming, isn't he? We can just kick around until he gets here? Romano, go ask those guys if they want to play us. Tell them we're still waiting for America, though."

Romano ran off to talk to his brother and the potato bastard.

"Kesesese~! I hope you guys are in good form tonight. I don't want any of them to see _me_ on a losing team."

"Don't worry about us," Den laughed. "I think the only wild card on the field is going to be America."

They both turned to England again, and he just shrugged. "It's anybody's guess. Sometimes he's really good, sometimes he has no clue. Let's just hope for the best."

"Oh, we can probably cover him, unless he does something really stupid. Stick him in the goal."

Romano gestured them over. "Yeah, we'll play. How long do you think it will take the burger bastard to get here?"

"Damn it, I really hate being America's babysitter! I have no idea, wanker!"

"Let's just get some practice. Can you get them off the field for a little bit? They've had a little time to warm up together."

"Yes, yes, I'll be right back."

"What position do you play, Arthur?"

"Anything we need, Gilbert. You defending?"

"Yeah. It probably makes more sense for me and Den to defend and you and Romano to attack."

"America's not going to be happy being the goalie, you know," Denmark pointed out. "It's not flashy enough for him."

"Well, we'll start out that way; we can switch around after a while, if he's really shirty about it."

…

Half an hour later everyone was warmed up, but there was still no sign of America. "Bollocks. He probably forgot."

The other team started catcalling. "Come on, mes amis, I don't want to stand around all day!"

"Ve, fratello, are you too _scared_ to play?" Veneziano actually looked a little scary at the moment, too. Romano just growled. _Not_ under his breath.

Germany and Austria were trying to look unconcerned, although the blond kept directing nervous glances at both England and Romano. Spain was lying on the ground looking up at the clouds.

"Chigi! Let's just play without him."

"If we do that, we're liable to get murdered." Denmark blew out a sigh.

"Well, we could at least _start_. Maybe we would be good enough. I mean, we are all awesome at football, yes?"

"Yes, wanker, but so are they! Ah, whatever. Let's try playing with just the four of us. Or maybe they can let someone sit out until he gets here."

A brief shouted conference in the center of the field led to Austria sitting out until America's arrival, or until the first goal was scored against his team, whichever came first. "Just don't expect me to be paying attention all the time," he snapped. "If you need me, you have to come get me. I'm working on a new composition and will most likely be thinking about that while I'm on the sidelines." He stomped off.

"Right, let's play!" yelled Prussia, and play began.

…

Things were pretty evenly-matched for a while. France was attacking, trying to taunt both Romano and England, but they were focused enough to ignore his increasingly-irritated taunts. No one had scored a goal yet. Veneziano was barreling down the field towards the goal, which Romano had hurried to defend. Instead of taking the ball closer, Veneziano gave it a good strong kick towards the goal. Romano completely ignored this and stared off the side of the field, and the ball hit him in the head.

"Ow! Veneziano, you idiot! What did you do that for?"

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Denmark yelled at Romano. "Why are you just standing around staring?"

Gameplay crashed to a halt.

"Oh." Romano shrugged and pointed to the side of the field. "I was distracted."

America stood on the sidelines, pouting, with his American football gear on, and his helmet under his arm.

"Bloody hell." England sank his head into his hands.

Many of the playing nations turned away so America wouldn't see them grinning at him, but France, Prussia, and Veneziano were all laughing out loud.

"Ve, America, you got the wrong game!"

They all walked to the side of the field. "Iggy, you said it was _football! _Not soccer!"

"You're a complete and utter git, America. _Complete_! You're the only American here! Nobody else calls it soccer!"

"But we're _in America_! Of course I thought you meant American football." He continued pouting.

"You didn't stop to think about where all the rest of us would get American football gear?"

"Uh. No, I didn't." He looked down at the ground, embarrassed.

"Ah, listen, bastard, just take off all that silly padding and come play. Unless you don't know how?"

"Of course I know how! I'm awesome at soccer."

"Better be," Romano growled.

…

Five minutes later America had divested himself of all his extraneous padding and the teams were on the field. As Denmark had predicted, America was not pleased about being relegated to goalie, but he accepted it.

Gameplay recommenced.

…

"Gah, these guys are kicking our butts," Denmark growled. The score was 3-1 after half an hour of play. Luckily the sun would be up for a while, so they _might_ be able to recover, but…

"Put me on offense," America suggested. "Switch with me, Iggy."

"You're already too offensive, git!"

"Hell, it can't hurt, bastard. Switch positions. That OK with you?"

"Yes, well, whatever."

…

Things were looking up. The score was now 3-3. America _was_ surprisingly effective on the attack, but now Romano was getting irritated because America was also a ball hog.

"Quit showing off, dammit!"

"Hey, we caught up, didn't we?"

Prussia interrupted. "Switch positions with me, Romano."

"I can't! I suck at defense! One sight of Spain or France headed my way and I'll just run off the field, you know that. Switch with America."

"I don't mind, Prussia."

"I never get to attack. This is _awesome_. OK, America and Den on defense, Romano and me on attack."

"Wait. Can't one of you relieve me of goalie duty? I hate playing in goal."

Denmark sighed. "Yes, all right, England takes defense, I'll take goalie."

Meanwhile, the opposing team was in an actual huddle. "Guess the bastards are getting nervous about us. Look at them."

"Your brother's just as bad as you, Romano. You guys are like a couple of football demons." America beamed at this epiphany.

"Sibling rivalry," England, Prussia and Denmark snorted in unison, and they all laughed together before retaking the field.

…

"Right, now, don't be a ball hog, albino potato."

"I can't believe you'd even think that of me, Romano. It's completely unawesome to leave your teammates high and dry that way."

"Just – just – whatever! Just play!"

…

"Argh, damn it," Denmark said, when England dropped back to defend the goal.

"Argh what?"

"We didn't make a bet!"

"Argh is right! Shut up and focus!"

…

An hour later the score was still 3-3 and everyone was exhausted. Even the Italy brothers, who had been the most vehement players, were losing interest. A small crowd had gathered at the edge of the playing field, quite interested in the game.

"Sudden death?" America suggested.

Everyone looked at him blankly.

"What? It's a tiebreaker! Whoever scores the next goal wins!"

"Except nobody's been scoring for an hour, mon cher. This could go on all night!"

"No, it couldn't," both Germany and Denmark growled.

"Let's take a ten-minute break. Maybe somebody will come up with an idea," Prussia offered.

"Yeah, yeah. Come over here, bastards, let's talk about strategy."

"My specialty, kesesese!"

The teams split up. "Do we even _have_ a strategy?" Denmark asked wearily. "It seems like all we're doing is running around screaming."

"Maybe we should just call the game. It's getting dark," America pointed out.

"No!" the other four chorused, then laughed.

"It's – important to me that we beat them," Romano finally offered in a candid tone, sighing. "I know we're all good, and they're all good, but…I really want to beat those bastards." He looked up at America. "You have no reason to keep playing, but I do."

"I'm in, wanker," the exhausted England said, punching him affectionately. Everyone grinned at this.

"You know I'm in; it's not awesome to quit in the middle of a game. Besides, France and Spain would never let me hear the end of it. "

"Germany and Austria wouldn't, either, bastard."

"I know. Den?"

"Well, of course I'm in. I just wish we'd have remembered to make a bet before we started!"

Groans from Prussia and Romano.

"Bet on the winners, git. Bet on us."

"Bastard, are you playing, or not?" Romano elbowed America in the ribs.

"Sure! If you guys are saying 'never say die' then I will too. It's more heroic that way."

They could all hear a low growling noise but only Romano realized it was coming from England. He grinned and poked him. "Let's kick their asses."

They went back to the center of the field in fine, fighting spirit; Germany and Veneziano came to meet them. "We're too tired to keep playing, ve. You guys can have the win."

"Son of a _bitch!_" Romano yelled. He threw the ball at Germany's face, but Denmark intercepted it. "We were completely going to _crush you!_"

"Ah, give it up, Romano, don't you see? We did crush them. We crushed their fighting spirits." Denmark handed the ball to Prussia.

"Yep. We awesomely thrashed them!" Prussia began doing one of his funny little victory dances on the field. Everyone ignored him.

"So are we all right, then?" Germany asked wearily. "The game is over, honor satisfied?"

The players all looked at Romano, whose anger was winding down. "_Chigi!..._But, yes, all right, we won, you lost, it's all good." He turned to his friends. "Come on, you bastards, let's go get drunk to celebrate. My treat. Last man standing wins."

"Kesesese~!"


	11. The Need for Speed

_We haven't seen Gilbird since chapter 2! I missed him. So here he is._

…

**The Need for Speed.**

"Hey, albino potato, it's me."

"Wow. You never call me. Are you looking for Veneziano? He's not here. West is out doing the grocery shopping."

"No, stupid, I'm calling to talk to you. Veneziano's at home today. Listen, this weekend he's coming to see your stupid brother, and he wants to drag me along. You know I hate hanging out with them. I wondered whether you and Den want to do something, get me out of that house."

"Aw, how sweet of you to think of me, Romano. This weekend when? Saturday or Sunday?"

"Saturday. I checked; the weather's supposed to be good, at least."

"I'm free on Saturday. Don't know about Denmark, though. I'll call him and find out. What about Iggy?"

"Do you think I would have called _you_ if I could have gone to see him?" Romano almost threw the phone down, but didn't. "He's going to Japan for some meeting on Friday and he'll be there all next week."

"Don't be mean about it, you know you love to spend time with me. You love me! Kesesese."

"What is it going to take, bastard, for you to _stop saying that_?"

"Just admit you love me! Just once. In front of Den. And then I'll stop."

Romano growled. "I already did that on the fucking _chocolate boat_. Or were you too drunk to remember? Argh, I'll see what I can do. _If_ you really think you'll stop. Somehow I have a feeling you'd just continue to goad me about it."

"Well, maybe."

"Shut up! Just – just talk to Denmark and see if we can get together. All right? Don't be stupid about it!"

"Yes, yes, you party pooper." He could hear the pout in Prussia's voice. "I'll call you tomorrow and let you know."

"Sounds okay to me. We're supposed to get there around nine."

"How are you going to get up early enough to get here by nine? You're such a snoozer!"

"Cheh, I'll sleep on the way. Don't worry about that. Got it, bastard?"

"Got it, snoozer. Talk to you tomorrow."

…

"Ve, fratello, time to wake up if we're going to go to Germany's house! I'm so glad you and Prussia will be having fun together today."

"Mmmmrrr…" from under the pillow. It was _much too early_ for this shit!

"Romano! Get up!" Veneziano maliciously yanked the pillow off his brother's head and began whacking him with it.

"Dammit. Why are you so vicious with me! I'll get up; stop hitting me with the fucking pillow!"

"Okay! But hurry up. We don't want to be late."

This was a bit worrying. "Why not?"

"Because - I want to go see Germany, of course! Now get out of bed." Veneziano left the room and Romano reluctantly got up.

…

"Awesome! You got here before Den! Come on in, both of you. _Hey, West!_"

Germany appeared from the kitchen. "Ah, hello, Italy, Romano. Shut the door, Prussia, will you?"

Prussia slammed the door. Veneziano ran to hug his burly boyfriend and Romano turned away in disgust.

"Give me a hug, Romano, I feel left out," Prussia offered with his insane grin.

"Chigi! Shut up. What are we doing today?"

The lovebirds went into the kitchen arm-in-arm, leaving the dangerous fucking bastards in the foyer.

"Just wait until Denmark gets here."

"Fine. Let's go outside. I don't want to be in this stupid house."

"Come on, Gilbird," Prussia called to his chick with glee. "We're going _out_ today!" The bird came and settled on his head and they went out to sit on the porch.

Denmark arrived twenty minutes later. "Hey, what are we doing today?"

"I don't know! Ask the potato. He won't tell me."

"Kesesese! Come on, Den, let's all get in your car. I have an absolutely awesome day planned for us."

"Cheh. Every time we get together you say that."

"Seriously, though, this really _is _awesome and both you and Den will love it. Get in the car. Do you need to fill up the tank, Denmark?"

"Depends. How far are we driving?"

"Get in and head west and I'll tell you. You better fill up the tank, though. _Kesesese~_!" Prussia was so excited, pounding his fists on his knees, that Gilbird flew off his head and rested on the car's headrest instead.

"Hey, if we're going to be in the car for a long time, can I take a nap in the back?"

"Sure, sleepy boy! Have fun. We'll wake you when we get there, unless you wake up first."

"Just how far are you making me drive today?" Denmark looked appalled.

Prussia merely tried to look inscrutable. "You'll see."

The other two sighed and got in the car. Romano lay back and fell asleep almost immediately. Gilbird settled in on his warm stomach to sleep as well.

…

"You're _kidding_ me!" Denmark's agitated voice woke Romano up.

"Mmmmrrr…" he growled. "What are you yelling about?" He sat up and frowned at the two in the front seat. "How long have I been asleep? Where the hell are we going, bastards?" Gilbird settled on Prussia's shoulder, cheeping quietly.

"The Nürburgring!" Den said in amazement.

"What? That's like, halfway across potato bastard land! How much longer until we get there?" Romano was very angry to have been awakened from his nap for this news.

"Calm down, Romano! We're almost there, _and_, we're going there to _race cars_! I got West to pull some strings for us. They've got cars waiting for us and they're _shutting down the track_! It will be closed all day, just for the three of us to race!"

"Damn. That _is_ awesome," Denmark admitted. "It makes this long drive worth it."

"Wait a minute. What _kind_ of cars?"

"They are going to have…" Prussia paused as if he were announcing the winners of a contest "…a BMW for me…a Ferrari for you…and a choice of either a Lotus or a Skoda for Den!"

"A _Skoda?" _the other two chorused. "You've got to be kidding me," Denmark laughed.

Romano was getting quite interested in this. "A Ferrari, huh, well, albino potato, maybe you did do something awesome today."

"You know what?" Denmark asked.

"We need to make a bet," they all said.

"Cheh. You're getting too predictable, Den."

"But we do. And it's an easy one, too. Just be the winner of the most races."

"Well, what are we doing? Individual laps? Multi-lap races? We have to figure that out, bastards."

"It would be silly to do a whole bunch of individual laps," Prussia considered. "We should just get in and race until somebody crashes or runs out of gas."

"Crashes? You idiot. I'm not going to crash a car on the Nürburgring!" Denmark was vehement about this.

Romano nodded in support of this. "Are you really that bad of a driver, bastard?"

"We-e-ell, not exactly," the albino prevaricated. "I mean, it's a very long time since I raced a race car. But probably I'm not that bad. In fact I'm probably awesome and just don't remember it."

Loud sighs from the other two. "But listen, if we do one long race, then we're not really hanging out together. If each of us is in his own car…?"

"Ah, my Danish friend, you fail to realize just what kind of pull my brother has around here! West got them to give us crash helmets with radio communications in them, so we can talk to each other all day!"

"Not sure I want to have your voice in my ear all day, while I'm trying to concentrate on driving," Romano snorted.

"Huh, that's all the thanks I get? For someone who loves me, _and _who is getting to drive a Ferrari on the Nürburgring, you sure are an ingrate."

Romano didn't dignify that with a response. Eventually Denmark pulled in to the parking lot that Prussia pointed out, and they got out of the car. Gilbird was still riding on the albino's head.

…

After they'd gotten the car situation settled (Den took the Lotus), Prussia set out the rules. "We'll start out with one single lap. Like a warm-up. First one back here can decide what the official bet rules will be. Okay?"

"Deal, bastard. Move out of my way." Romano put on his crash helmet and got into the Ferrari.

"Did you even consider that Romano is an insane race-car driver?" Denmark asked his friend.

"Uh. No…"

"I heard that, bastard," they heard squawking from the earpieces of their helmets.

Instead of addressing this comment, Prussia got excited about the helmets. "Put on your helmet, Den! Wahaha, this is going to be so much fun! Hey, Gilbird, do you want to ride in the race car or wait over here? You can snooze in Denmark's car, if you like."

The bird flew over onto the warm hood of Denmark's car and settled in to watch the race, cheeping quietly.

Eventually everyone had his helmet on and was seated in the correct car. "Everyone's radio working?" Prussia cackled.

"Yes, bastard, mine's working. Don't distract me."

"Mine's OK too, Prussia. Can you hear me, Romano?"

"Yes, yes, bastard, I can hear both of you, _too loudly_. Let's get going. Why don't you give the start signal, albino potato, since this is your deal?"

"Fine with me. On the count of three! No cheating, Romano!"

"Grrrrr…."

"One…two…two and a half…"

"Dammit!"

"Three!"

The cars squealed past the starting line and soon the only sounds were the occasional "Kesesese" and maniacal laughter from Romano.

"Dammit, Prussia, you're awesome!" he screamed, rounding a curve. He was in the lead at the moment.

"I didn't tell you these helmets are also recording everything we say! I'm going to save that recording and play it back to you every time you get mad at me."

"Bastard, I may never get mad at you again, this is so much fun. This is a great car."

"Hey, Prussia," Denmark put in. "Why did you pick a Lotus for me? Why not something else?"

"Don't ask me, ask West. He set it up. I just asked him to do it."

"Cheh, what do you have to do for him now? Probably something pretty serious, huh?"

"Uh…he hasn't told me yet…"

Den laughed. "You're going to be cleaning bathrooms for the rest of your life!"

They sped on, without speaking, for a little while, still laughing and occasionally screaming with glee.

…

Denmark won the warm-up lap.

"So what's the bet going to be?"

"Damn it. I can never think of the bets! Isn't it enough that I remembered we need to _make_ the bet?"

"How about we do a three-lap race? We'll keep track of who wins each lap. Whoever wins the most laps wins the bet?"

"Stupid again, potato brain. We might each win one lap and then it's a tie. We need to do four laps."

"No, because what if, say, I win two and Den wins two?"

"Bastard, you don't think I'm going to win? I'm going to kick your albino ass!"

"Regardless of who wins, we do need to figure out the right math for this," Den pointed out reasonably. "How about best out of five?"

"We could still end up with two, two, one," Prussia pointed out.

"Well, the two, two, could have a tiebreak lap?"

"Whatever, bastards, let's not waste all our race time arguing about the stupid bet! Or let's race and argue at the same time."

"Yeah, let's do best out of five. If we have a tie we'll do a tiebreaker."

"Right. You guys are going down!" Romano started his crazy laughter again. The race began in earnest.

…

The three friends happily chattered during lap one, with some occasional cursing when one of them was overtaken. At the end of the first lap they were still bunched up in a close pack. Romano was in front, with Denmark and Prussia nearly tied, right behind him.

During the second lap, Denmark got a little more risky with his cornering, and overtook Romano well before the end of the lap. There was a lot more cursing during this lap. Much of it was in Italian.

During the third lap Romano caught up to Denmark by focusing a little more, but Prussia passed them both right before they finished the lap. "Kesesese~!"

"Shut up, bastard!" Romano was getting really irritated. _Pissed off._ If the albino potato won this bet, nobody in the western world would ever hear the end of it.

On the fourth lap, Romano and Prussia crossed the line at the same time, with Denmark behind, still laughing crazily. "I want to go out and get drunk after this!" he yelled.

"Deal, bastard! Come on, we can't let the potato win!"

"Losers buy the drinks!" Prussia yelled into his helmet.

Well, _that_ was certainly motivating. Everyone got a little more reckless in order to cross the finish line first.

"You know if I win this lap, it's a three-way tie," Denmark laughed. "Since you guys tied the last lap."

"Cheh, we'll work it out later, just finish the lap!" Denmark did then pass Romano. "Chigi! But…just pass the potato, Den, go!" Romano floored it and eventually overtook Denmark again, and was so intent on catching up to Prussia – who was only about ten yards ahead of him – that he completely missed the fact that they were approaching the finish line. When Prussia crossed the line, he safely brought his car to a stop, cackling, while Romano sped on into the distance.

"Hey, Romano, where are you going? I won the race! Kesesese!"

"_What? _I thought that was only the fourth lap!"

"Wow, you may be a good racer, Romano, but your math sucks!" Denmark pulled over after crossing the line. "Come on back."

"Dammit. You mean the albino potato actually _won_?"

"Well, let's recap." They discussed the laps and realized that Prussia had indeed won two and a half laps, if they counted the one where he tied with Romano.

"Well…_dammit._ But…you know, it was an awesome race."

Since the track was closed, Romano was able to turn around and drive back somewhat sedately. Denmark and Prussia were leaning on the hood of Denmark's car, and Gilbird was resting on the albino's shoulder, happily nibbling at his ear.

"This was a brilliant idea, Prussia. I don't mind buying the drinks at all. We should make a regular thing of this." Denmark stretched and gave them his happy grin.

"Uh…I don't know how often West would be able to arrange it. I'm just glad Veneziano got Romano out of bed in time."

"What? You mean that's why he was rushing me to get over to your place? Dammit. I wish he would have said. I'd have gotten up easily!" Romano made sure their helmets were all stowed in the race cars before turning to the other two. "Hey…Prussia…"

"Yeah?"

"I…uh…you're awesome, bastard." He blushed and looked down at the ground. Both his friends started laughing.

"Kesesese!" Prussia grabbed him in a hug and spun him around. When he set Romano back down, he beamed at him and said, "You do love me!"

Romano just kept blushing and looking at the ground, and nodded. "And you too, Den."

Denmark gave them both a hug, too. "Come on, let's go get drunk."

..

_Whew, I finally did a chapter without Iggy trying to steal the limelight. Been trying to do that since the first beach chapter, but…he's too intrusive!_


	12. Pet Store Shenanigans

_The poor SB's haven't been getting much love lately; I've been too wrapped up in the Anagram Stories!_

…

**Pet Store Shenanigans.**

Sitting under the tree, Prussia tried to poke Romano with his foot. "Wake up."

"No."

"Den, make him wake up. This is boring."

"Shut up. I'm not asleep."

"Well, then let's go do something!" Prussia ripped up handfuls of the sparse grass and tried to fling them at his lazy friend, but the grass didn't go very far.

Denmark stood and stretched. "Yeah, let's go downtown or something. Come on, Romano. Want me to carry you?" He grinned.

"Chigi! I can walk!" He scrambled up very quickly and the three of them walked off, Prussia and Denmark laughing, and Romano with his habitual scowl.

"Well, you made me carry you that one time."

"That was just to goad you. What do you bastards want to do, anyway?"

"Beats me," Prussia answered. "There's got to be something interesting around here."

"Let's get some coffee, at least."

"Oh yeah! I forgot they were having a special promotion this month. They're issuing demitasse spoons with engravings of famous buildings in the bowl of the spoon. I'm collecting all of them."

"With what money?" Den asked. "How many are there, and where are you getting the cash?"

"West gave me some money. You don't need to be such a wet blanket all the time."

"Cheh. He's perfectly right to ask. Don't expect me to buy fancy spoons for your collection, potato brain."

They entered the coffee shop and placed their orders. Prussia made a beeline for the fancy spoon display and almost squealed when he saw Sanssouci was the featured spoon of the week. "I've _got_ to get it!" He went back to the counter and purchased one.

When they had their drinks, Prussia drew them outside so he could wax eloquent about his spoon. "Not only, not _only_ does it have the most awesome Sanssouci on it, but also, it was the very last one they had in sterling silver! All the rest were stainless steel! This is a very rare spoon. I'm so excited that I got the last one."

"Whatever," his friends said in unison, and he bopped Romano on the head with the spoon.

"Ow. Bastard."

"You just don't appreciate the awesomeness that is my new spoon."

"Right." Denmark sipped his coffee. "We don't appreciate it. We never will. Shut up."

Prussia growled, but then shut up and tucked the spoon into the breast pocket of his uniform jacket. The very end of the handle poked up through the flap.

"Don't lose it, dammit. I don't want to listen to you moaning all day about how you lost your fucking _rare spoon_." Romano snorted.

"It's secure! All right? Let's walk on."

They walked on. Romano finished his coffee and threw the cup away.

"Hey, what's that?" Den eventually asked. "New store!"

"Exotic Pet Shop? I don't see what makes it so exotic," Romano argued. "It looks just like every other shop on this road."

"Kesesese! Are you an idiot, Romano? It means that the _pets_ are exotic! Not the shop!" He threw his coffee cup away and checked to make sure his spoon was secure. It was.

"Dammit! Whatever!"

"Can we go in?" Denmark had finished his coffee and threw the cup in a trash can.

"Sure, I don't mind. I like exotic animals. Coming in, Romano?"

"Yes, all right."

They entered the exotic pet shop. It was very large; there were even shopping carts available, which made them all laugh. "I guess if you wanted to buy a really big dog, you could put it in the cart?" Den scratched his head, puzzled.

"Maybe for big bags of cat litter or something, bastard."

"Yeah, that's probably it. Well, I don't think we need a shopping cart, do you?"

"Dammit, I'm not going to buy a pet, exotic or otherwise! What about you, albino potato, or did you spend all your cash on that stupid spoon?"

"It's not a stupid spoon," Prussia began, and Denmark immediately clapped a hand over both his mouth and Romano's.

"No fighting. Not in the store. You want to fight, wait until we're outside."

Both his friends nodded, and he took his hands away.

"Anyway, I didn't spend _all_ my cash on the spoon, but also, I don't want to come home with a pet; West might kill me."

"Hmm," Romano mused. Could he sneak an exotic pet into the potato bastard's house just to get him pissed off at Prussia? That would be funny. But no. Probably his fratello would end up doing all the cage cleaning. "Come on, let's just walk around and see what they have."

First they entered the bird section. In addition to the exotic birds such as toucans, the store also stocked many more standard varieties. The friends spent a pleasant half hour trying to teach the birds to speak. At the end of the half hour, the only success they'd had was with the bird Romano had been speaking to. He'd been trying to teach it to say "bastard," but because he'd gotten so irritated, the bird kept saying "chigi" instead. Denmark and Prussia found this very funny; Romano was quite embarrassed.

"You should buy it, Romano. Then when somebody phones you up and you don't want to talk to them, you can just park the bird by the phone and have it squawk 'chigi' every ten seconds. Nobody will ever know the difference! Kesesese!"

"You're an idiot, Prussia. A complete idiot. You know the only person I would ever use it on is _you._"

"But I love you!"

Romano and Denmark both froze with their mouths wide open, until Prussia started laughing at them. "You guys look like big, dumb fish! Close your mouths!"

"I…just can't believe what you said," Denmark stammered. "I can't believe you actually changed your catchphrase!"

"Don't be stupid, Den, it's not a _catchphrase_. I only say it to Romano, and I'm giving him a break because he was so cool about the Nürburgring day."

"Cheh, thanks, potato brain. But that talking bird idea is still pretty stupid."

"Come on, let's move along." Denmark steered them towards the reptile area. "Whoa! Look at this lizard thing!" He peered into a giant terrarium built into the wall. "What is this thing?" They looked around for a sign, but couldn't find one. It was a very _large_ lizard thing…about three feet long, spiky and green.

"Excuse me, miss?" Prussia collared a clerk. "What is this thing?"

"Oh! That's our green iguana. We call him Iggy."

The friends were silent for about three seconds, and then Prussia and Denmark burst into such loud peals of laughter that the clerk scurried away. Romano flushed bright red and turned away from the other two…but he was fighting laughter as well.

"Ta-take a picture of it, Den," Prussia wheezed. "We have to, have to show it to him…" He exploded with laughter again and this time Romano joined in.

"Hey, Romano, stand next to the cage thing. We can tell him you were hanging out with another Iggy." Denmark started spluttering again.

Romano slouched over to the terrarium and let Denmark snap the picture. They wandered off, still chuckling, towards the insect area. "I told you it was a good idea to come in here," Denmark beamed. "This place is fun."

They entered the main insect aisle. "Gah!" Romano jumped away from the nearest cage. It held a giant spider, a big, menacing thing almost as big as a plate. "What the fuck?"

Denmark read the label. "It's a—"

"I don't even want to know! Dammit!" Romano ran off past the insect area. Prussia caught up with him very quickly.

"I agree, man, that thing was _scary_."

"Where the hell's Den?"

Prussia peeked over the shelves. "Still looking in the cage."

"Son of a bitch. Who would even want to buy such a thing? _He _better not buy one!" Romano wiped a bit of sweat from his brow. "Why does this store even sell stuff like that? They shouldn't just have that out where unsuspecting customers can walk right up and see it! What if a mom brings her little kids in here? That's going to give me _nightmares!_"

"Calm down, Romano." Prussia patted him on the shoulder. "Come on. Relax. Forget you saw it."

Romano leaned his head against Prussia's shoulder. "Yeah. Thanks." He took a few deep breaths. "Can you tell Den to get a move on? I need to look at something fluffy and cute, I think, to get that out of my head." He turned in place and found the exotic mammals section. "Over there. I'm going over there. Will you get Den?"

"Sure. We'll meet you over there."

Romano, still trembling a little, moved to the exotic mammals section, a little fearful of what he might find there. But the first cage he saw had an adorable tufted koala bear in it. "Aww," he said, in a very quiet tone, and spent a few minutes happily looking at it and wondering if koala bears were cuddly or if those big claws would scratch his face off if he tried for a hug.

Before he could get too agitated about this, his friends joined him. "You OK, Romano?" Denmark hugged him. "Sorry about that."

"Ah, it's all right, bastard. Just – don't expect me to go over to that part of the store again."

"This guy's cute!" Prussia said, gesturing to the bear.

"Yeah, they are really cute…to look at…but look at the claws."

"I noticed that. Come on, let's see what else there is." They moved on, Prussia in the lead.

"Awesome! Check it out!" He was jumping up and down in front of a basic cage that held some kind of white mammal.

"What is it?" Denmark looked at it critically. "Ferret?"

"It's a _mink_! Isn't that cool?"

"I thought minks were brown, bastard, or sometimes black. You know, like they make mink coats out of?"

The mink seemed to give Romano a very dirty look, but he was probably just imagining that.

"It's an _albino mink~,"_ Prussia sang out, practically dancing in the aisle. "This would be the world's most perfect pet. Soft, cuddly, and albino!"

"Just like you," Denmark snorted.

"What do you mean, Den? I _am_ soft, cuddly and albino! Why are you guys laughing?" He punched Denmark in the shoulder and turned back to the mink cage, bending over to peer in at the little guy…

…who reached out a tiny albino paw and pinched the Sanssouci spoon right out of Prussia's pocket.

"_Hey_! Hey, that mink stole my spoon!"

Romano and Den were seriously laughing now; Romano had to lean against a shelf to stay upright. Prussia dodged around the cage in a panic, trying to get his spoon back, but he was afraid to slip his fingers through the bars in case the mink bit him, and the mink kept moving the spoon around anyway. "Come on, you guys, get a clerk over here or something. I want my spoon back!"

But neither of his friends could attend.

"You two are total – _bastards!_" Prussia yelled. "I'll go find a clerk myself!" He stomped off, and the other two were mostly able to control themselves at that point.

"Dammit."

"You said it."

They wiped their eyes and studiously avoided looking into the mink cage.

Soon Prussia returned with a clerk. "Hey, what happened to the spoon?"

"How should I know, bastard? The mink took it, that's all I can tell you."

"Come on! You guys didn't even pay attention? I can't even _see_ the spoon anymore!"

"Maybe he ate it," Denmark suggested, which set him and Romano off again.

"I'm never going anywhere with you two again."

"Is that a promise?"

Prussia and the clerk focused on locating the spoon; the albino also focused on ignoring his hysterical friends. Eventually the clerk spotted a flash of silver in the mink's pile of bedding.

"I can see it, sir," he said to Prussia. "If I take the mink out and hand it to you, can you hold it while I get the spoon out?"

"No, no, no!" Prussia argued. "_You_ hold the mink. I'll get the precious spoon. It's very rare, you know."

"Fine," sighed the clerk. Den and Romano turned back to watch this.

The clerk opened the cage and gently lifted out the struggling albino mink with both hands. As Prussia reached in to grab his rare spoon, the mink twisted in the clerk's hand and jumped free, running down the aisle away from them.

"Damn it!" the clerk yelled, running after the mink. "Escape! Escape!" He blew a little whistle that was hanging around his neck.

"Come on, Prussia, let's get the hell out of here!" Denmark grabbed him by the arm and the three of them sprinted for the exit.

…

_I wanted to write something for the Skirmish Brothers, but have been having no ideas at all for them. So I plugged "Prussia Denmark Romano" into the anagram generator and got "Mink Marauds Rare Spoon." At least it motivated me to write a chapter._


	13. Paintball

**Paintball.**

After they'd finished their coffee this visit (and Prussia had picked up his next collectible spoon, depicting the White House, at which he snorted, but bought it anyway), the friends wandered off down the road. It was later in the day than usual. Denmark had had meetings all morning.

"Wanna go see the exotic pets?" he asked with a grin.

"_No,"_ the other two chorused. "I just got a new spoon!" Prussia pointed out.

"And I don't want to see that fucking spider again, dammit."

"Fine. Then what are we going to do?"

They walked in silence, each trying to come up with a plan.

"We could – ah, no, forget it," Prussia said.

"What? Maybe we could?"

"Romano wouldn't do it. You would, and I would, but…forget it."

"Chigi! Will you just tell us what it is?" Romano punched Prussia's arm.

"Well, there _is_ that new paintball place."

Here, Denmark's eyes lit up, and Romano's widened in fear. "_What_?"

"See, I told you," Prussia said dismissively.

Denmark took a few minutes to think. He loved to play paintball, and he knew Prussia did too. It was just a matter of finding the right way to convince Romano. Of course, they could ask him to wait outside while they played, but that was no fun at all.

"I wouldn't want Romano to be uncomfortable," he eventually said in a very concerned tone. At this, both his friends looked at him: Romano with relief, but Prussia with understanding.

"I agree," the albino replied calmly. "We can find something else to do. Don't worry about it, Romano. Den and I can come and play sometime without you."

_Aha, very effective,_ Denmark realized, and indeed, Romano began to bristle.

"I'm not a _little kid_, bastard. It's just – well – I've never done that before. I don't know anything about it."

Prussia gestured at Denmark, as if to say "Over to you," and Denmark started to explain about paintball.

The friends continued to walk on as he explained. Romano's expression went from surly to thoughtful.

"I do like shooting guns," he admitted. "I just don't like getting hit!"

Prussia interrupted to point out that it didn't always _hurt._ More like a slap. Here, he slapped Romano, who slapped his hand away.

"Cheh. I can deal with that. I have to, when I'm with you two."

Naturally, Denmark and Prussia both slapped him, at that.

They held their breath, hoping, as the three of them walked along.

"How long do you play for?"

"Couple hours, usually," Denmark answered in a rather offhand tone.

"A couple _hours?_ Of getting _shot at? Chigi!"_

Whoops. Prussia and Denmark looked at each other. Looked like they were back to square one.

"Well," the albino conceded, "you don't _have_ to. It's not like a set thing, where you have to stay until the end of the round. You can just leave whenever you want."

"But you bastards usually play for a couple of hours?"

"We've never played together," Den pointed out. "I usually just go down to my local place and play with whoever else is around."

"Same here, but sometimes West goes with me. I don't like it when he does. He always wins."

All three of them smiled at that admission. They continued to walk on, past the pet store, and then Romano said, "All right, bastards. I'll do it…if we can limit ourselves to an hour."

"Kesesese! Yes!" Prussia leaped up and punched the air. "Thanks, Romano. You rock."

"Cheh. I know," he snorted, but then gave his friends a tiny little smile. Denmark gave him a quick one-armed hug and they wandered off to the paintball joint.

…

This particular paintball place was purpose-built, covering nearly three acres of ground on several levels. Prussia told them about the place where he and Germany usually went, which was an abandoned prison that had been converted for paintball play, and it sounded kind of interesting. This place was like a big warehouse, with several interior levels available, each set up like a different kind of environment. Players could choose the urban jungle, a level with rusty cars, concrete slabs, and the like; the rainforest, filled with artificial plants and misters in the ceiling and walls (they dismissed that as being too messy); a rocky beach, with a sand-covered floor; and in fact a level made to look like an abandoned prison.

"Huh," Prussia scoffed. "They stole that idea."

"Who cares? Come on, pick a level." Denmark shouldered his rifle.

"Not the prison level, bastards. I don't want albino boy to have an unfair advantage." Romano still looked kind of nervous, but he was looking at his paintball gun almost with affection. He'd chosen the AK47, and it looked pretty impressive.

"I don't mind. Den, you pick." Prussia was packing a paintball pistol, a PPK.

"Ah, all right, how about the beach level? There didn't seem to be too many people there, anyway."

"Sounds all right to me," Romano said, still admiring his rifle.

…

_Cheh_, Romano thought, _this isn't so bad, but…_ He was crouched behind a big rock. There were artificial palm trees and dune grasses here and there; Den or the albino potato could be hiding _anywhere_! So far he'd managed to avoid getting hit, but…he hadn't landed any shots, either. He really wanted to shoot Prussia! Their team was wearing desert camouflage; there were at least two other groups in here that he had seen, but one was wearing jungle camo, the other red jackets, and both were easy to differentiate from Den and Prussia. Also, those jungle guys were wearing helmets.

Romano peeked out from around his rock again and saw Prussia trying to sneak across an opening between two trees. Aha. He took careful aim and shot, hearing a satisfying yelp from the albino as the paintball got him. "Heh heh," he snickered, ready to shoot again, but by now Prussia had done a crouch-and-roll behind a tree.

_Zing!_ "Ow!" Denmark had shot Romano in the ass! "Dammit." He turned and looked for the spiky-haired blond, but couldn't see him. Well, either this camouflage was damned effective, or Den was stealthier than he'd thought. It did hurt a little, but…now he was pissed off, and determined to shoot Denmark. Romano sneaked around his rock to head towards another area, to get out of range of the invisible Denmark and work out a plan.

…

Denmark was pretty upset; he hadn't had a chance to shoot anyone yet! He kept spotting one of the guys in the jungle camo, or the red gear, but either Prussia and Romano were being too stealthy, or their camouflage was very, very good. He stalked off again, carrying his rifle ready to shoot, eyes darting to and fro in search of his friends.

…

Prussia knew, he just _knew_ that it had been Romano who'd shot him. He was getting pretty frustrated at not being able to spot the brunet. He really, really wanted to shoot him! He popped his head up over the top of a big rock, scanning the area. Aha. There was some movement over there. He carefully aimed his pistol and shot.

"Son of a bitch!" he heard, in a voice that was neither Denmark's nor Romano's. Whoops. He ducked back down in case the other guy decided to retaliate, and slunk off around the side of his big fake rock.

…

The hour was almost up. Romano was proud of himself for taking no further hits, but was still irritated that he hadn't managed to shoot anybody after that first one he'd landed on Prussia. But ah! There he was again. Romano took careful aim.

"Bloody hell!" he heard from the side of the room, and this distracted him so much that the rifle swung towards the sound and he accidentally pulled the trigger. "Ow!"

A paintball zinged past his tree defense and hit him in the shoulder. "Dammit!"

"Aha!" he heard Denmark yell, and Romano felt a paintball hit him in the back.

"Gotcha!" Prussia screamed, scrambling over a rock and shooting Denmark in the arm.

All three of them were standing together, looking a bit triumphant, when suddenly someone shot Romano in the arm. "Ow! Who the fuck is shooting at me?" he asked.

They turned around and saw one of the helmeted jungle camouflage guys aiming at them again. "What the hell?" Prussia yelled. "You're only supposed to shoot at your own players!"

_Zing!_ Romano ducked and the shot caught Denmark in the stomach. "Damn it!" He shot back at the jungle guy.

Romano and Prussia, both really pissed off, started shooting the guy, too.

"Hey, hey, stop, stop, stop, you guys! Ha ha!"

"America?" they all chorused.

Just then Prussia jumped forward as if he'd been shot from behind…which he had.

"Gotcha, Gilbert, you bloody awesome strategist!"

"What the hell are you doing here, bastard?" England was dressed in the jungle camo, covered in paintball splats. America got up and came towards them from the other direction.

"Well, America wanted to come play paintball! I called you, but you weren't home. Should have guessed you'd be out with these wankers."

"It's totally unawesome that you shot me in the back, Arthur."

"Cheh, like you wouldn't have done the same thing to him?"

Prussia shrugged and laughed, slinging an arm around Arthur.

"This is really stupid," Denmark decided. "Our time's almost up anyway. Let's go get drunk."

"Sounds good to me, dude."

…

_Please send me any ideas for future chapters! This was the best I could think of, and I know it's kind of weak. But I had Denmark and America on the brain from the Anagram Stories, so I had to slip America in here somehow._


	14. Happy New Year, Part I

**Happy New Year (Part I).**

"I hate sitting around the potato bastard house."

"Shut up and deal with it, will you? It's snowing out, and we have nothing better to do and no place else to go." Denmark got up to refill his beer.

"Plus, we have a ton of beer! Kesesese!"

Romano groaned. "Like that's an inducement? Come on, if we can't go anywhere, let's at least think of something to do here." He smacked himself in the forehead. "I can't believe I actually said that."

"What are your holiday plans?" Denmark asked. "Since we're not going to be able to go to Swissy's place this year."

"That's so unawesome. I really wanted to go."

"Well, too bad. We couldn't afford it, and it's not like you could contribute, potato brain."

"I thought you said Arthur was going to buy that house?"

"No, I did not say that. I said that Swissy wanted to sell it…and that England had asked him about it. But it was really, really expensive."

"Whatever!" Denmark yelled. "The point is, we're either going to sit around here driving each other nuts all night, or we're going to do something."

"Cheh. Probably both."

"Anyway, Den, you know I don't have any holiday plans; if I did, they'd be plans with you!" Prussia reached over and ruffled his hair.

"What's everybody else doing? How about your brother?"

"Kesesese. He's taking Veneziano to the Caribbean for a week."

"You're kidding. You're fucking _kidding._ My idiot brother didn't even tell me that. So he gets to go to the Caribbean, and I get to…stick around with you bozos."

"What about Arthur, though? Don't you guys have plans?"

"Nothing yet."

"Well, you ought to figure something out, or you're going to be all alone!" Prussia gave his friend an arch grin. "That would suck."

"Yes, it would, bastard."

"No." Denmark stood up and stretched. "Nobody's going to be alone. Come on, we'll work out some way we can all hang out, at least." Then he sat back down.

"Like what? Lounging around the potato palace while my brother's off romping in the sunshine? Chigi!"

"Well…Prussia, when are they going on that vacation?"

"Dunno. Let me check the calendar." He went to the computer and looked. "Looks like they leave on the 26th and come back on January 3rd."

Denmark got a somewhat evil look on his face.

"Stop with the scary face, bastard. What are you thinking about?"

"We…could have a New Year's party here, while Germany is gone!"

Silence reigned while the other two tried to find fault with this. They couldn't.

"That would be _awesome!"_

"I know." Denmark beamed at his friends.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Romano put in. "Just the three of us hanging around here drinking? Dammit, we do that all the time. We have to make it different somehow."

Prussia was giving him a funny look. "What do you mean, just the three of us? You're not going to invite my good friend Arthur? You're a cold-hearted bastard, Romano!"

"Shut up. I didn't mean that; you know what I meant. We need to make it a real party, not just us hanging around drinking."

"And fighting."

"All right, how's this?" Denmark asked. "Each of us is allowed to bring just one guest. That way it's small enough to be manageable – because we really don't want to end up cleaning a completely trashed house before Germany gets back –"

"You're telling me –"

"–so if we each invite one person that makes eight total, which is completely manageable!"

"What? Where the fuck did you learn your math, bastard? If we each invite one person that makes _six."_

"Don't be so stupid, Romano! I meant that England could be one of the party planners."

"Oh. Sorry. Well, that's good; I don't have to waste my guest slot on him."

_"Waste_ it? Man, you two really do have the weirdest relationship ever."

"So what? It's nothing to do with you, so shut up about it. Let's get back to the party planning."

Prussia thought about this. "Eight people is more affordable than inviting everybody else, too."

"Good point, potato brain. Who's paying for this eight-person extravaganza?"

"Well, if I'm hosting it here at my house, that's my contribution."

"Should have guessed you'd say something like that, bastard. You supply the – the beer."

"Beer and cupcakes!" Prussia crowed.

"That's disgusting," both his friends chorused.

"But does that sound like a good plan?" Denmark asked. "Should we start planning?"

"Cheh. Sounds all right to me. Get me another beer, albino potato."

Prussia obeyed with a tiny smile. "You know you love my beer."

"Huh, that's a new one. You keep surprising me."

"Do you think I'm just a one-trick pony? No. I have an awesome vocabulary."

"Whatever!" Denmark was getting fed up and got himself another beer. "Will you two shut up so we can talk about this party?"

"Well, at least we don't need to pick a date, bastards. New Year's is New Year's."

"Should we have a theme? Like a costume party?"

"Yeah," Denmark snorted. "I'll dress as an albino mink."

Prussia looked like he was going to pour his beer over Denmark's head, but then he drank it instead.

"Not a costume party, please. I hate that shit."

"_You'd_ make a cute albino mink, though," Prussia crooned, tickling Romano under the chin.

"Chigi!" Romano smacked his hand away.

"Listen, though, seriously, we can't let West know about this. We just can't. He'll lock up the kegs."

"We have to have better booze than just beer, though, bastards."

"Don't you mean _high-quality liquor_? Kesesese!"

"Hey, that's it!" Den realized. "We should have everyone bring a bottle of some booze that's a national specialty of their country, _and_ a national food. We can still have the beer and other stuff, but that would be a cool theme, not too bizarre. Easy for everyone to do."

"I could deal with that," Romano admitted.

"I'm going to ask Swissy to bring some of those chocolates."

"So you're inviting Swissy, Prussia? Do you really believe that Switzerland will come to our party, if _you_ invite him?"

"Why not? Everybody knows I throw great parties. Plus, if he has a good time, maybe next year he'll let us use his place for cheap."

"That's pretty unlikely. It'd have to be one hell of a party."

"It will be!" Prussia beamed. "My parties always are."

"I'll invite Swissy," Romano said, surprising the others. They stopped drinking and stared at him for a minute.

"Wh- why? I mean, why Swissy?"

"I want some of that chocolate, that's why!" Romano turned red and rubbed a hand over his face.

"How about you, Den? Who will you invite?"

"Norge, I guess, or…oh! America!"

"Seriously?"

"Why not? He's a lot of fun at parties."

"England won't be happy."

"Arthur is _never_ happy."

Romano smirked at him. "Not around _you_, stupid."

Denmark asked Prussia who he would invite, now that Romano was going to invite Swissy.

"Argh, I don't know. Austria. I wonder who Arthur will invite?"

"Dammit, as long as it's not Spain or France, I don't care. But then, he wouldn't invite them anyway."

"Maybe I'll ask Norge, and then he can ask America."

"You really think Norway will come? I don't even really know him that well," Romano pointed out.

"Well, whatever. If he won't, he won't. But we need to figure out who's going to take care of what stuff, food and whatever."

"Wait a minute," Romano realized. "How are we going to keep this a secret from the potato bastard if we're inviting all these people? We can't wait until the last minute to ask them, or they'll all be busy. Somebody's bound to spill."

"Tell them it's at my place. Then the day before we can call and say it's going to be here," Denmark suggested.

"That's just dumb, though, Den." Prussia poked him. "Why don't we just have it at your place to begin with?"

Then they both turned to Romano.

"Oh, no, no, no, bastards, I am absolutely _not_ hosting a drunken blowout at my house. If we have it here, or at Den's, I'll deal with it; I'll contribute and be there and try to have fun, but I refuse to host it at my place. Besides, it doesn't get very cold at my place. Not festive enough for New Year's."

Prussia pouted, but agreed that it was not a good idea to host it at Romano's place.

"Well? My place or yours, loverboy?" Denmark poked Prussia.

"Might as well have it here. I mean, the bar's all set up, and stuff. Plus I kind of like the idea of sneaking around behind West's back to throw a party."

"Me too," Romano smirked.

…

About an hour later, the snow had stopped falling. Party plans were made, beer had been drunk, friends were comfortable. "You two staying here tonight?" Prussia asked.

"Might as well, dammit. Too tired to head back home tonight. Go get the bed stuff." Romano stretched out on the couch.

"Light a fire while I'm gone, all right?"

"Cheh, yes, all right." He got up to lay and light the fire while Prussia ran off to find pillows and blankets.

"We're going to have a great New Year's," Denmark said happily, once they were all snuggled in front of the fire. "I love parties."

"Kesesese!"

…

_Last year they spent the holidays at one of Switzerland's chalets. This is in my story "Songs about Life."_

_Stay tuned for the party!_


	15. Happy New Year, Part II

_Happy New Year to all of you readers as well! _

…

**Happy New Year (Part II).**

Everything seemed to be in place. It was five o'clock and the hosts were all lounging around Prussia and Germany's living room with beer. Other than stringing Christmas lights all over the room, they hadn't decorated much.

Prussia had the kegs lined up.

Romano had brought pasta. Lots and lots of pasta.

Denmark's gravlaks and risalamande were in the refrigerator.

England had brought several fruitcakes, several cases of rum, and scones. Prussia had discreetly tossed the scones out in the back yard for the birds. He hoped the birds would eat them before Arthur found out what he'd done.

"So who's on the guest list?" England asked. "I invited America, but the wanker wasn't sure he'd show. He said he might be visiting Japan or Russia."

"I invited Swissy," Romano said, "and he's coming. He's bringing a lot of chocolate from the chocolate boat people."

Everyone smiled at that fond memory, except England, who growled.

"Austria's coming! He's so awesomely excited. He hasn't been to one of my parties in a long time. Poland wanted him to go to his place, but he turned him down so he could come here!"

"What's he bringing?"

"I didn't even ask, but you know, he always brings the best stuff. He won't come to a _party_ with cheap stuff, no matter how cheap he is at home."

Everyone agreed.

"Norway is definitely coming, but may be a little late. He's going to Ice's place first; Ice is having a little party and Norge wants to go see Sweden and Finland. I don't know what he's bringing; he wants to surprise me."

"Sounds like we have it all under control."

…

An hour later the doorbell rang. Prussia skipped to the door to answer it. "Hey, Swissy! And – uh – h-hi there, Liechtenstein! Happy New Year!" Huh. Well, one more guest wouldn't be a problem. "Come in! You guys are the first ones here."

He led them into the house, where Denmark, Romano and England all had equally confused looks on their faces. England rose to the occasion first, coming over to greet them. Romano offered to get drinks for them while Prussia and Denmark took their bags of chocolates and Chasselas wine into the kitchen.

"Are we going to have enough stuff?" Denmark asked Prussia in the kitchen.

"Yes, it's awesomely under control. You can't imagine _Liechtenstein's_ going to go boozing it up or pigging all our food?" He snorted. "No, don't sweat it, Den."

The doorbell rang again and Prussia ran to answer it, leaving Denmark in the kitchen putting things on plates.

"Austria! Oh, my so-dear friend, please come in, kesesese! I'm so glad to see you!"

Austria entered, leading Hungary by the hand; Poland and Lithuania followed.

"Oh. And – and Hungary too, how nice! Poland! Lithuania! Uh, give me your bags. Arthur, will you get some drinks for these guys?"

England and Romano looked at each other, shrugged, and greeted the new arrivals; England poured them each a beer. Austria immediately went to talk to Switzerland, and Hungary to Liechtenstein. Poland sat on the couch next to Switzerland, but they didn't look at each other. Lithuania kindly offered to help England at the bar.

Romano escaped into the kitchen. "Dammit! Austria brought Hungary, _and_ Poland, _and_ Lithuania! We're going to run out of food."

"Settle down, Romano. Everybody's bringing food, so we can just eat chocolates and – uh – whatever they awesomely brought." Prussia looked into the bag. "Huh. Smells like schnitzel."

"Figures," Romano snorted. "Potato bastard food. Well, I'll stick with my pasta."

Denmark looked around the kitchen. "Do we need to do anything else here?"

"No. Go out and socialize; pour me a beer, I'll be right out," Prussia answered. He gave Romano a little push. "Go."

So Denmark and Romano went back out to the party.

"Thanks for leaving me alone out here, wanker."

"Shut up, bastard. Give me a drink."

England gave him a drink. The doorbell rang; Denmark answered it.

"Hey, man!" America yelled. He barged into the house leading Canada and Japan. "Russia's going to be along a little later, all right?"

Denmark handed the bags off to Romano and made a beeline for the kitchen. England began getting drinks for the new arrivals.

"Our eight-person extravaganza is already up to fifteen people," Denmark hissed to Prussia. "That's nearly _double _what we were expecting! I hope we have enough stuff!"

"This is really going to be awesome" was Prussia's response as he downed his beer. Denmark elbowed him, but started carrying plates of food out to put on the side tables.

"Dammit," Romano muttered to him, moving to help him. "This is going to be out of control. Either we're going to run out of stuff and it's going to be the most boring party ever, or everybody's going to get drunk and rip the house apart! _Dammit_. We're going to be here _all week_ cleaning up!"

"Don't stress. Have a beer. There's nothing we can do about it. No way to nicely send people home. Maybe Norge won't show; that will help a little. Anyway, we still have a couple days to clean up before Germany gets back, if it's really that bad." Denmark drank some beer.

England came over to join them. "Where's the music? Are we putting anything on the telly?"

"Yeah, put it on," Romano decided. "Extra noise might make people forget about eating and drinking!"

The island nation put on the stereo and Romano put on the muted television. Nobody paid any attention. Within minutes, everyone was drinking, laughing and talking. Poland and Lithuania had already begun dancing to the festive beat pouring from the stereo; America and Canada had begun bickering with each other in front of the television set. Everyone else was calmly chatting and seemed to be relaxing.

"Well, as long as they're all having fun…?" Denmark suggested.

"I need a drink!" Prussia moved to the bar and poured himself another beer. "Anybody else?"

England and Denmark got beer; Romano did not.

"Hey, Romano!" America called. "Come over here! We need a tiebreaker."

He wandered over. "Tiebreaker for what, bastard?"

"Which channel?"

Immediately everyone in the room started offering opinions on what shows to watch. The noise level escalated alarmingly. Romano used his status as host to grab the remote from America and overrule everyone, putting on a football game.

"Aw! Not soccer, Romano!"

"It's _football!_" everyone else in the room shouted. Even Japan.

America fell back on the sofa and covered his embarrassed face with a cushion.

Romano took the remote and hid it. Football would be good enough for now. Later they could look for something more festive.

Denmark and Prussia had finally finished putting all the guests' food out on the side tables. Everyone madly swarmed towards the tables, grabbing things to eat. Most of Romano's delicious pasta was gone in minutes. England didn't get to eat any, and it made him stroppy.

"Bollocks. Give me another beer, Gilbert!"

Prussia obliged.

…

Austria and Denmark were deep in conversation in the corner of the room.

"But you know that my country will never suffer the effects of a tsunami," Austria pointed out. He delicately ate a piece of Swiss chocolate. "It simply can't happen."

"Well, this is what worries me. My country is perfectly poised to suffer the effects, and I really need to start developing contingency plans. I don't need that kind of trauma at my place."

"I'm sure if you talked to Japan he could help you. He's had some of the darkest tsunamis in history, and dealt with them as effectively as possible."

"Yes. Perhaps I will. You're lucky, Austria, that you don't have this issue." Denmark scratched his head and drank some rum.

"I know, but I do have other things to worry about."

"I suppose we all do."

…

Romano stepped up to Lithuania. "Bastard, you don't need to be helping with the serving. We can take care of that."

Lithuania smiled politely. "I don't mind at all. Poland is in a bit of a snit, so I need to do something to take my mind off it."

"Cheh. Did you have any pasta?" Romano didn't know Lithuania well, but he'd always seemed rather unassuming. He figured it wouldn't be too stressful to talk to him for a while, especially because his friends were all busy entertaining other guests.

"I'm sorry I didn't get to try any. Everyone came up to the table so fast; it was gone before I got here!"

"That's all right. At least there's plenty of other stuff to eat. Come on, grab a plate and let's sit down."

Lithuania did. They found chairs in the dining room that were unoccupied and sat.

"You have kind of a reputation for being really nice and helpful," Romano said as a conversation starter.

"I know, but boy, that's hard to maintain! Some days I just want to scream and throw things."

They laughed together. "I know exactly how that feels."

"Yes, but from what I understand, you _do_ scream and throw things!"

"I don't believe in repressing my feelings, dammit," Romano stated. "Ask anybody."

"I don't exactly _repress_ them. I feel like I'm expected to maintain this holy demeanor and it's tough."

"Like having an invisible halo, right?"

"Right!" They clinked their glasses together and drank.

…

Switzerland had finally unbent enough to start speaking to America. "What's new at your place?"

"There's a new craze sweeping the nation," America said excitedly. "People are creating little animated logos of swirling psychedelic designs to use instead of QR codes! Everyone is getting into it. I even designed one myself. It's got a lizard on it, a swirling pink lizard on a bright blue background."

"I hate lizards."

"Fair enough. Want me to make one for you? Not a lizard, I mean. Maybe a – a swirling yellow gun on a green background?"

"What for, though? I don't really need a QR code…or an animated swirl logo."

"But they're so cool! I'll tell you what, I'll design one and send it to you, and then you'll have it when you need it."

"Fine. Could you get me another beer?"

"Sure, man! And I could use one myself. I'll be right back." America left him to head to the bar.

…

The doorbell rang. "Oh, must be Norway," Prussia said to Poland. "Hang on. I'll be right back."

"What_ever_!" Poland flipped his hair back and turned away from his host.

When Prussia got to the door he nearly dropped his beer; standing on the porch was not only Norway, but also Iceland, Sweden, and Finland! "Ha – happy new year?"

"H'p'y N'Year," Sweden said, pushing past him and leading Finland by the hand into the house. Finland was dressed in his Santa costume and looked quite cute.

"I hope you don't mind me bringing them along, Prussia," Norway said, dragging Iceland inside. "Happy New Year."

Prussia just stood there with the door open, letting the cold air in, feeling baffled. How had this party escalated to this? _Four_ more guests? He finally realized what he was doing and slammed the door shut, pushing through the crowd to find Denmark.

He dragged his friend into the kitchen, but Hungary and Canada were in there having an argument about dancing. Then he tried to drag Denmark upstairs, but Japan was in the way. "Damn it!" Prussia yelled, hauling his friend out into the back yard. Ha. Even desperate birds in the middle of winter didn't want Arthur's scones.

"Did you see that? Norway brought _all_ of the other Nordics with him!" he hissed.

"Cool!"

"Den! That is not the point! They didn't bring anything with them! _Nothing!_"

"You worry too much. At this point nobody's going to care. They'll just assume we've all been pigging out all night! Go back in and get drunk."

"I don't know if I _can._ Don't know if there's enough booze_._"

_"High-quality liquor."_

"Shut up. Come on back in and help."

…

Japan was always a little reserved around some of the louder nations like Denmark and Prussia, but when he found himself standing next to Iceland he decided to try striking up a conversation. "How is the industry in your remote land proceeding?"

"Quite well. We have a new method of stonewashing denim fabric."

Japan too was having a denim craze at the moment, and said so.

"It's quite popular at our place. We use a new acid enzyme made from the distilled juice of the Arctic willow leaf."

"And this is a good method? Perhaps I will investigate similar methods."

"Yes. We are also experimenting with things like beetroot and sunflowers to get dyed denim."

"Fascinating!"

…

"Now listen, Canada, I know you have the best maple syrup, but what about other kinds of syrup?"

"What other kind is there?" Canada asked politely.

"I don't know, git! Strawberry syrup? Blackberry syrup? Rhubarb syrup!"

"We don't make any of those."

"You're joking. What about treacle?"

"We do make treacle, but it's not very popular."

"Huh. What did you bring for us to eat tonight?"

"Butter tarts, but I think someone ate them all already."

"Blast. I love butter tarts. Oh well. Want another drink?"

"Uh…well, why not? I'm drinking rum and Coke."

"Smart boy," England laughed, and moved off to the bar.

…

"Hey, Liechtenstein, how are you?"

"Oh – er – Prussia, hi…I'm fine!" Liechtenstein looked around in a panic for someone who could intervene here. Prussia always made her so nervous.

"Want a drink? We have some awesome rum that England brought."

"Ah, no, I was – was just looking for Hungary. Have you seen her?"

"Kesesese! She's upstairs with Finland. Talking about his Santa costume. I think they're in West's bedroom," he laughed, waggling his eyebrows.

Liechtenstein bolted.

…

Sweden was sitting quietly in the corner, watching the rest of the party. When the doorbell rang and nobody went to open the door, he got up and walked over to open it.

Russia was standing there and looked slightly taken aback. "Hello, Sweden!" he smiled.

Sweden nodded slowly and stepped back from the door to allow Russia entrance.

"Russia!" America yelled, running over to embrace him. The blond was quite, quite drunk, but had managed to stay on his feet all evening. Russia allowed the embrace, but did not return it. He handed off a bag to Denmark, who was standing nearest.

"Thank you for inviting me, Denmark," he said with a smile.

"Uh, you're welcome?" Denmark seized the opportunity to escape to the kitchen with the bag.

Romano was madly trying to find some more food to put out, and failing. "What's in the bag?"

"Don't know. Russia just got here; it's his bag." They looked inside. "Pancakes?"

"Russian pancakes are called _blini_, bastard," Romano said.

"Wow! I'm surprised you know that." Denmark ruffled Romano's hair, and the brunet smoothed it back down.

"_Chigi_! I know a lot of stuff."

"Yeah, I know. Help me get these out on the table."

After they took the loaded plates out to the buffet table, they spared a few minutes to look around at the party guests. It seemed that Poland had passed out already. That was kind of surprising; it was only ten-thirty. Swissy, Japan and Norway were now nowhere to be seen, but everyone else was still drinking.

"Looks like everybody's having fun, at least," England said, sneaking up behind them with a glass of water.

"Water? Bastard, have you gone insane?"

"No! I'm just trying to spare the booze for the guests!"

"That's so thoughtful of you, Arthur," Prussia said, coming up to them with a beer. "You'll notice I'm drinking anyway, kesesese."

"Yes, I noticed, git. But we have a lot of beer, right?"

"We-e-ll," Prussia admitted, "not as much as you might think. America in particular has been pounding down the beer, and now that Russia's here the two of them seem to be having some kind of contest." They all looked over to where the two nations were leaning against the bar chugging beer. "Also, we didn't have as many spare kegs as I'd thought, and I didn't want to ask West to buy more before he went away; I didn't want him getting suspicious."

"You're an_ idiot_, Gilbert. You could have asked one of us!"

"Oh. Yeah. Oh, well."

His friends all rolled their eyes.

"Well, what, then?" Denmark asked. "How close are we to running out of stuff?"

They all moved to the bar and began rummaging around behind it. "All the rum is gone! Why is the rum gone?" England yelled. "Wankers."

"Swissy's wine is all gone, too, dammit."

"Don't you and Germany have a drinks cabinet, Gilbert? Isn't there anything in there we could use?"

Prussia thought. "Yes. We could make some punch. We have Sekt and some Kirschwasser?"

"Ugh." Denmark made a face. "Don't know how well that will go over."

"Are you kidding, bastard? Everybody but us is drunk already! They'll take anything they can get their hands on."

"Good point. Come on, Prussia, let's go make the punch." Denmark and Prussia slipped away.

"Hey, Iggy!" America yelled.

"What? Don't yell, I'm standing right here."

"Have a beer!" America pulled a beer for the island nation.

"Want a beer, Romano?"

"No thanks, bastard. I'm fine with my drink."

"What are you drinking, anyway, git?"

"Uh." Romano leaned over to whisper in England's ear. "Club soda. I was trying to spare the booze for the guests, too."

They shared a smirk before turning back to America and Russia.

"Are you two having a drinking contest?" Romano asked them.

"Yes! But of course I will win, because America started drinking long before I did. In any case America is a lightweight, da?"

"Da," the others agreed with a grin, as America put on a puppy-dog pout.

"Arthur! Come help us carry this stuff!" Prussia's head poked out of the kitchen.

"Righto. Back in a minute." He set his beer on the bar and went into the kitchen.

"Romano, your pasta was awesome. Nobody makes pasta like you, not even your brother. Hey, where is your brother, anyway?"

"Da, and where is Germany?"

America giggled. "Maybe they went upstairs already?"

"Chigi! No. The potato bastard took him to the Caribbean for the holidays." Romano made a very sour face.

"Lucky Veneziano."

"Lucky Germany," America countered.

"Bastards."

Prussia came over to them, apparently having settled the Kirschwasser punch effectively. "Hungary passed out," he said, drinking his beer.

"Dammit. We're going to be the only ones left standing."

"No way, man!" America struck his heroic pose. "There's _no way_ I'm passing out."

Denmark came over. "Where the hell is Ice? And Norway!"

"No idea," Prussia said. "Kesesese."

"Filthy-minded boy." England smacked Prussia on the ass, and he turned around and gave the blond a hug and a kiss.

Russia and America went back to their drinking, and England finished his beer.

…

A loud yell came from upstairs. All four of the friends stopped chatting and ran upstairs to see what was going on.

In Germany's bedroom, Norway and Canada were drunkenly jumping on the bed, screaming and laughing.

"Norge?"

"_Canada?" _

"Hi, guys!" Canada yelled. "This bed is _perfect_ for jumping, eh!" He took Norway's hand and they leaped off the bed, screaming. The four hosts scrambled backwards out of the room and ran downstairs. They heard the drunken laughter continue as they scurried into the living room.

"That was fucking _weird,_ bastards."

"I want to jump on a bed," Prussia decided. "Come on, Den, let's go jump on a bed! Kesesese!"

"Don't be stupid, dammit. You can't. You're the host! Anyway, it's soon midnight. Let's see if we can dig up some more food and drink."

Prussia punched Romano in the arm, but agreed.

..

It was getting close to midnight. England and Prussia went upstairs to find missing guests (at this point Iceland, Liechtenstein, and Lithuania); Denmark and Romano placed the very last of the food and drink on the table.

"Bastard, I'm starving."

"Well, eat something!"

"There's nothing left but the fucking _schnitzel!_ You know how I feel about that shit."

"Then shut up and starve," Denmark laughed. He'd finally allowed himself to start drinking in earnest, no longer caring whether the guests had enough to drink or not.

Romano grudgingly put some schnitzel on a plate. They stepped off to the side of the room to observe. The noise level was still pretty high. Finland had crossed to sit on Sweden's lap and the two of them were quietly murmuring in the corner, but otherwise the remaining guests, even Japan, were loud and excited.

America had finally stopped drinking; he was leaning against the couch, but still upright, hugging and talking to Austria. "That's surprising," Romano pointed it out to Denmark.

"You're telling _me_."

"Whatever. Get me a beer, will you, bastard?"

"Sure."

…

Upstairs, Prussia and England were peeking into every room, looking for the three missing guests. "Bloody hell!" England finally yelled. "Do you have some kind of secret room? Where are they?"

"Beats me. Oh! Maybe they went down to my room?"

"Why the hell would they do that? Bollocks, I really need a drink."

"Yes, you do! You're really crabby! Come on, let's go look in my room."

They scurried down the back staircase and into Prussia's basement room. Nothing.

"Damn it! Well, if they miss the official New Year, it's not my problem," Prussia decided, taking off his shirt.

"What the hell are you doing, wanker?"

"It's too hot up there. I want to change my clothes. Just be a pal, wait here while I get undressed, will you?"

"Whatever, Gilbert. Whatever."

Prussia undressed to his underwear and then put on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. "Awesome! Shorts in December! Kesesese. Come on, let's go back upstairs."

"Git."

…

By the time they got up to the living room again, Austria and America had both collapsed onto the floor, still hugging each other. Liechtenstein had reappeared and was looking a little tipsy as she tried to speak with her brother, but Switzerland was fighting sleep himself, and didn't seem to be paying much attention to her. There was nothing left at all to eat or drink. Romano looked in dismay at the litter all over the place. Dirty plates and cutlery, dirty glasses, food on the carpets, empty bottles…dammit, it really _was_ going to take them a week to clean. At least nobody'd gotten sick yet. At least, not that he could see.

Norway and Lithuania were drunkenly dancing together, singing along to the pop tunes on the stereo and jumping around. This was bizarre enough that the party hosts stood and watched for a minute in a sort of stupor.

"Oi! There's only fifteen minutes to midnight!" Prussia finally yelled.

In the corner, Sweden and Finland looked up. Finland smiled, and Sweden nodded. Nobody else in the room reacted at all.

"Dammit. We're missing some people, aren't we?"

"Yes! Bloody hell, we still can't find Iceland or Japan!"

"Maybe they went out back?" Denmark scratched his head.

"I'll go take a look," Romano offered.

"Might as well come with you." Den set his beer down and they went out into the back yard.

Yes, there were the two missing nations. It looked like they were playing horseshoes. "What are you doing, Ice?"

"We found these interesting rocks and we're trying to see if we can throw them across the yard without letting them go over the boundary." Iceland held up one of the projectiles.

Denmark began laughing hysterically.

"Why are you laughing?" Japan asked politely.

"Those aren't rocks! Those are England's scones!" Denmark was laughing so hard he had to sit down. "Throw them as far as you can. We didn't want him to see that we threw them out here."

"But that's not very polite," Iceland pointed out.

Romano had a little smirk on his face. "You've never actually tried to eat one of these, have you, bastard? Come on, just throw them and come in. It's almost midnight."

"Oh!" Japan dropped the scone and headed right back in. The others followed a little more leisurely.

…

Everyone who was still able to stand had come back into the living room for the countdown. Prussia was happily hugging Denmark, who looked a little embarrassed, but…everyone else was drunk, so, what the hell!

The nations all stood together to usher in the New Year. Romano surreptitiously took England's hand and received a tiny smile and squeeze in response.

"Five – four – three – two – one!" Everyone yelled and began cheering.

Nobody noticed that the front door had opened. Germany and Veneziano stood there, letting in the cold air, staring at the fallen guests, the detritus, in shock. _"Prussia-a-a!"_ Germany bellowed.

The party hosts took one look at his red face and fled out the back door. "Come on, let's go to my place," Den said, and they ran off together, laughing hysterically.

…

_I used the anagram generator to come up with some of the bizarre conversational topics. I put all the names into a hat and pulled out random pairs:_

_Austria/Denmark = A Darker Tsunami_

_Romano/Lithuania = Maintain Our Halo_

_Switzerland/America = Animated Swirl Craze (Swissy really makes the best anagrams!)_

_Japan/Iceland: Acid Jean Plan_

_Prussia/England: A Pal Undressing_

_I hope everyone has a wonderful 2012. _


	16. Summer Vacation I

_This is the beginning of a little multi-part sub-plot, maybe 6 chapters, but since it's for a summer-based event, I'm going to put some random chapters in after this one, and start the actual vacation chapters nearer to our summertime. _

…

**Summer Vacation, I.**

"Argh. I don't have a hangover, but – ugh! The thought of going back home and listening to West nag at me for the party is not fun."

"Don't go," Denmark suggested. "You know you can stay here as long as you want."

"I'm going to have to go back eventually."

"What the hell was he even doing there? I thought they were in the Caribbean until the 5th or something?"

"Beats me. Maybe they broke up? Kesesese."

"Don't be stupid; Veneziano was _with him_ last night!"

"Oh, yeah. Hey, Romano, bring me some coffee!"

From the kitchen, Romano called back, "Yes, all right, dammit. How about you, Denmark?"

"Just bring the whole pot out."

New Year's Day was always a bit stressful for most nations. England had already headed home to begin focusing on his upcoming duties, but the other three had been sitting around recapping the party and just talking about stuff, wondering how all the party guests had fared under Germany's sober, angry eye.

Romano came back in with the coffee pot and a mugful for Prussia. "Now that the holidays are over, I'm kind of wishing we'd gone to Swissy's place again. It feels like this holiday was just too weak compared to all that stuff we did last year." He sat next to Prussia on the couch.

"Or something. Yeah." Prussia took the coffee gratefully and drank a big gulp. "Ow. This is too hot."

"Just let it cool down first, idiot."

"We should plan some other kind of vacation, though," Denmark decided. "We always have so much fun together."

Romano snorted, but Prussia gave him a big grin. "Kesesese! Yes! Let's plan a summer vacation this time."

"Yeah, but where will we go? Bastards. I refuse to spend a whole vacation in – well, whatever."

Both his friends laughed at him. "But that wouldn't be a vacation for me, anyway."

"We could go to Japan."

"Aw, Den, you know I hate going there. It's completely unawesome that I can't read the writing."

"That rules out places like Russia, too, albino potato."

"I know, I know."

They thought about this for a little while. "We – uh – we could go to Canada, or America?" Den suggested. He poured himself some more coffee.

"I don't really have a problem with America." Romano drank his coffee and thought about this. "I've been to a couple places on the east coast – New York, and Washington, but – America's a big place. Maybe we could find some area that's not as well-known, and explore it? Or just someplace the three of us have never been?"

"That's a great idea, Romano!" Prussia set his mug down and hugged his friend.

"Get off me."

"Aw. You know I have the best hugs."

Prussia's determination to alter his not-a-catchphrase had apparently ceased to amuse. When he got no response from either of his friends, not even an eye roll, he let go of Romano and leaned back on the couch, pouting. "Anyway, it _is_ a great idea. What do you guys know about America?"

"We should look at a map." Denmark got up to fetch an atlas.

"First we should figure out when we want to go, bastards."

"No, we should figure out how long we're going to be there! Then we can figure out where to go, or how long to spend in each awesome place."

"Map." Denmark hit Prussia over the head with the atlas.

"Ow! Den! Come on, you're being crabby. Let's look at the map, then." Prussia then got a gleam in his eye that did not go unnoticed by his friends.

"What are you plotting now, evil potato?"

"America's got different coffee shops. Maybe I can find some new rare spoons!" Nobody responded to that, either. "You guys are a couple of party poopers."

"Shut up and look at the map." Denmark poked him.

They spent a few attentive minutes looking at the map. "Well, how the hell should I know?" Romano pointed out. "I don't know anything except the Northeast!"

"Some of these places are bound to be a bit boring," Denmark admitted. "I always hear this term 'middle America' where there's not much going on."

"Well, then we should pick a city – not in the Northeast – and kind of hang around that one city, right?" Prussia beamed with self-congratulation.

"Sounds okay to me, but how the hell are we going to pick out a city? Again, I have no idea."

"Los Angeles is pretty popular."

"Kesesese, we might see some movie stars!"

"Let's make a list of possible cities." Denmark got a pencil and paper and handed it to Romano, who had the neatest handwriting.

"Shoot, bastards."

After about twenty minutes, they had a list of five cities in America that might be worth visiting: Los Angeles, Chicago, Seattle, Dallas and Miami.

"No," Romano realized, "Miami in the summer is going to be too hot."

"Yeah. Too much sunscreening required." Den poked Prussia.

"So do we want to put a different city on here, instead of Miami, or just knock the list down to four?" Romano scratched his head with the pencil.

"Take Miami off the list" was Prussia's opinion. "Four is still a good number to choose from."

"Well, then, how the hell do we choose? Too many cities to flip a coin."

"No, what we should do is research each place and see what has the most stuff we'd like to do."

"Kesesese, yes, or talk to America about it."

"Wow. A good idea actually came out of that brain full of potatoes."

"Shut up." Denmark poked Romano_._ "But, this reminds me. Are you going to ask England to come with us?"

"That sour old warmonger," Prussia muttered, laughing.

"Well…he probably couldn't go. He's so busy with his nation stuff."

"Listen, Romano, I'm so tired of this!" Denmark looked really angry and slammed the atlas shut. "_Every single time_, we ask you about him, and you _always_ say no, and then we ask him, and he always says yes! Is there some reason you don't want him to go?"

The half-nation looked taken aback. "No! I'd love to have him go, especially because it would distract me from the albino potato."

"Kesesese."

"But – well –"

"You know I'm right," Denmark pointed out. "He _always_ says yes."

"Cheh, fine, whatever. I'll ask him."

"Hey, don't feel like you're _obliged_ to ask. I just thought you might have fun that way. Since he gets along with all of us."

"_Whatever_! I'll – I'll figure it out. Just don't say anything to him. Let me think about it."

"He's too chicken to ask," Prussia whispered to Den, who laughed.

"Fine. We promise not to say anything to England. Right, Prussia?"

"I won't say anything to England," Prussia agreed, but both Romano and Denmark realized what he was so carefully trying not to say.

"You can't say anything to _Arthur_, either, Prussia."

"So not awesome. How come you guys knew what I was thinking?"

"Cheh."

"So you'll figure out about England, and we – we have a meeting coming up, so we can talk to America about our four cities. Right?"

"When's the meeting, bastard?"

"Early February. In – oh. It's in Seattle."

"Well, that's actually pretty awesome! We can all go to the meeting and have a mini vacation there, and then take Seattle off the choices list!"

"I don't have a problem with that, potato brain; I was already planning to go to the meeting. Is that all right with you, Den?"

"Sure. It's a five-day meeting; maybe we can all take the weekend before and after, and have our little mini time?"

"Kesesese!" Prussia stood on the couch and started jumping. "Awesome year full of vacations, yeah!"

"Let's do it," Romano agreed. "We can talk to America at the meeting."

The three friends agreed, and began making preparations to head back to their homes.

...

_I know the New Year's party was supposed to be the end of the story, but I couldn't bear to give up on them. I'm still accepting ideas for future chapters...if you have any, send 'em my way! Thanks for reading._


	17. Modeling

**Modeling.**

"Hey, Prussia. Can you come over today? Some – well, some people need me to do something, and I want you and Romano to help too."

"Sure, I don't mind. Does Romano know yet? Maybe he can meet me and we can come over together?"

"Yeah, if you could give him a call and get him to come over – I mean, I realize it might be tough for you to convince him – but that would help. I – uh – have to do a lot of prep work."

"Den, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Never mind! Just come over as soon as you can, and bring Romano!"

Hmm. Prussia would need to strategize a little, before phoning his Italian friend.

…

"Oh, _Romanoooo_~…"

"Grr. What."

Maybe Prussia's opening gambit hadn't been the smartest. He tried a different approach. "Well, you know who this is, right?"

"Do you think I'm an idiot? Of course I know it's you, albino potato. What do you want?"

"I don't want anything; Den does."

"He's in trouble?"

"No! No, what gives you that idea?"

"Listen, Prussia, what the hell are you calling me for, dammit?"

Prussia took a deep breath. "Denmark wants us both to come over today. There's something going on – he won't tell me what – but he wants you and me to be there to help him. Something with other people, and he's busy doing stuff to prepare, so he didn't have time to call you."

"You're serious."

"Of course I'm serious! If we just wanted to hang out, we'd say so!"

"Cheh. Fine. Since it's for Den, I'll do it. Should I just go to his place?"

"Kesesese! No, come here, and I'll drive us over."

"Yes, all right. Give me a little while."

"As soon as we can, Den said!"

"Chigi! Fine! I'm on my way."

…

Denmark answered the door in a V-neck white cotton sweater, shirt, and white pleated pants, which was kind of bizarre for January. "Hi, come on in."

Prussia and Romano looked at each other in confusion, but they came in. "Why are you all dressed up?" Romano asked. Prussia absently hugged his boyfriend, but he still looked a little concerned.

"Come in, come to the living room and I'll explain."

In Denmark's spacious living room, about twelve men and women were milling about, setting up cameras and lights and draping the furniture in colored sheets. Racks of clothing stood against one wall, boxes of toys and props nearby. Two women had set up makeup tables near the windows. A side table with a small buffet stood next to them, complete with a commercial coffee urn.

"What the fuck?" Prussia and Romano chorused. Romano nudged the albino and pointed to a covered animal cage under the window.

A few of these people turned and looked at them, but only one man started to come over as if to speak with them. Denmark waved him away. His friends noticed that this man kept staring at them with his jaw dropped, rubbing his chin pensively, the entire time Den was tendering the following explanation.

"We – uh, well, it's time for the Danish Summer Tourism ads to be photographed. I usually model for the ads, and this year I asked if you guys could come and be in the ads with me. That's all."

"You – want us to – to _model, _bastard?" Romano had a sudden panic attack. "Dammit, I don't know much about that shit; it's more Veneziano's thing."

But Prussia was ecstatic. "Kesesese! We're gonna look so good!" He immediately started eying up the racks of clothing, bouncing up and down.

Denmark put his arms around Romano. "If you don't want to – I understand completely. But maybe you could stay here while they take pictures of Prussia and me? It's usually a pretty fun day, and it would be cool to have you hanging out."

"Cheh, yes, I don't mind that at all. What exactly do you have to do?" Romano looked around; Prussia had managed to slip away and was leafing through the clothing racks, holding things up to his body and admiring them. The staring man was now gaping at Den and Romano; Denmark still had his arms around the half-nation, like a loose hug, and they were talking in low, intimate tones.

"First they make us up – they already did me, but they'll have to do Prussia next – and then we just change in and out of outfits, with props, and stand around getting our pictures taken. We stand before the backdrops, or a green screen, and they fix it up later. It's not really a big deal. We should be done by dinnertime, and then we can all go out? Or, hey, give England a call, maybe we can meet up with him for dinner, maybe go out drinking? We should be done by six."

"I'm surprised you didn't call him to come over," Romano admitted. "You're always doing ninja relationship shit like that for me."

"After what you said about the vacation I decided to stop meddling. You do what you want. If you want to see him, call him, but…it's probably too late for this part. By the time he got here, we'd be half done anyway."

"Yeah. I'll call him about dinner, though. Haven't seen him since New Year's." He and Den exchanged a quick hug before Romano moved to the side of the room, more interested in this process than he was letting on. Fashion really was more in Veneziano's line. He pulled out his phone and, somewhat distracted, called England to make arrangements to meet at Denmark's at 6:30. Afterwards, someone offered him a high director's chair and a cup of coffee; he sat in the corner of the room, watching. Denmark had taken the opportunity to get a refill on his coffee, as well.

"Uh – what's in the cage?" Romano asked a nearby worker. Prussia stopped what he was doing to listen.

"It's a pair of lorikeets from one of our zoos," the man answered. "One is a rainbow lory and one is an albino." The man beamed at Prussia.

"Kesesese! It's like a theme today!" He went to the makeup chair and sat down. "Awesome albino tourism in Denmark!"

Romano and Denmark groaned.

…

The first set was aboard a mockup of a cruise ship – Copenhagen was a port of call for many cruise lines. Denmark, as they'd seen, was already dressed for this; Prussia put on his Danish cruise fashions – first, black pants and a white cotton Oxford shirt with a red tie. Other than some darkening of the eyebrows and eyelashes, Prussia had not needed much makeup. Everyone had had to listen to his self-satisfied boasting when he'd learned that.

He and Den were then photographed with props and backdrops to make them appear as if they were on board ship. "Romano, seriously, you should come do this! It's so fun!" Prussia cackled a little, brandishing a shuffleboard tang. He'd already narrowly missed decapitating a Klieg light with it.

Denmark shook his head. "Come on, Romano, help me. Join us!"

"Chigi! I don't want to wear _makeup_!"

"It's not so bad," Denmark began. "It's not like they make you look like a girl or anything."

The makeup artists looked at Romano appreciatively. "Sir, we've been studying you; we don't think you'd need any makeup at all; maybe just a little tinted lip balm. You look really good just like you are." Both the Danish girls blushed and joined hands as they beamed at him.

Romano too blushed and then smiled; Prussia yelled "Awesome! Come on!" and spun in place. Several people near him ducked reflexively.

"Will you do it?" Denmark pleaded.

"Do you – do you seriously need me?"

"Yes!" everyone chorused. "You'd make an excellent contrast with these two," the shoot's director pointed out dreamily.

Denmark scooted over and hugged him. "Please?" he whispered. "Help me with him? I'll buy your drinks tonight?"

Romano laughed. Learning that he didn't need to wear makeup had gone a long way towards softening him up. And knowing he'd be allowed to boss the albino potato around in front of all these people? Priceless. "Sure. What do I need to do?"

The makeup girls put him into the chair and applied tinted lip balm to his parted lips with a lip brush, simpering and flirting with him; he easily flirted back. The girls then decided his hair needed a little work. They spent a little too much time and attention running their fingers through his hair and trying to style it, but eventually admitted it was perfect as it was. Romano could hear "Kesesese!" behind him – repeatedly – but eventually he was allowed to get out of the chair.

While he'd been in the chair, both Prussia and Denmark had refilled their coffee cups and gotten a snack.

The wardrobe girl nervously handed Romano some cruise wear and he changed behind a temporary screen just as his friends had done. He was intrigued by the idea of appearing in Danish advertisements. It would be fun to show off in front of his idiot brother and England when the ads appeared in print. He chuckled a little behind the screen. He'd bet nobody ever asked the _potato bastard_ to model anything.

When he came out, dressed in a crisp white linen suit, Prussia whistled and blew him a kiss, pointing towards him with the tang, making the crew step back in alarm. "Romano, you really are the hottest thing ever," he said, grinning. Denmark poked him. "Well, he is! Look at him. I wish I'd gotten to you before Arthur did."

"Idiot," Denmark said, hugging him. "You were already dating me when they got together."

"Oh yeah. _Oh!_ Den – come here." The albino hugged his boyfriend and pulled him down a little to whisper into his ear.

Denmark began laughing. "You want to try it, be my guest," he laughed, "but – forget it. I'm not getting involved." He slung his arm around Prussia's shoulders as they looked at Romano speculatively.

"_Chigi!_ You are _not_ getting a look at my underwear, you transparent maniac." Romano pushed Prussia aside.

"Aw, but you know you want to show me!"

Here, the three friends noticed that the entire photography crew was gawking at them. One of the makeup girls had a nosebleed and was frantically trying to staunch the flow with some cotton pads. Two of the cameramen were supporting each other with glazed expressions, and the director was fanning himself with his hand.

"What the fuck?" Romano asked.

But Den and Prussia started laughing. "Come on, let's get these pictures taken."

…

For the next part, they would be working in casualwear, in front of a green screen, which would later be replaced with pictures of famous Danish landmarks. Everyone took a short break while the models changed and got coffee and snacks to fuel themselves.

Prussia didn't want to give up his tang, but the director pointed out that he'd look silly traveling around to monuments with it in his hand, so he reluctantly switched it for a prop mug of beer. Much to his disappointment, it was not real beer, but resin; the director pointed out that real beer was too likely to slop around and ruin the photo shoot. Prussia pouted, but Denmark laughed at him, flourishing his empty coffee mug.

"Shut up, bastard; I'll buy you a beer later, but just behave yourself, for Den's sake."

"Awesome. We should have made a bet. I would have bet you'd never willingly spend your money on _beer_."

"Can it, Prussia. You know he'd get England to buy it, just to get around the bet."

"Oh, yeah, probably." Prussia poked Denmark with the fake beer. "You're a little crabby."

"Whose fault is that? Come on, let's act touristy. Get over here, Romano."

This part took almost an hour, because they had to keep changing clothes. Every time he changed, Romano managed to keep Prussia from seeing his underwear.

The director brought out a pair of folding bicycles to be used as props, but there was only enough room in the shot for one. Denmark took it and posed quite effectively with it, sitting astride, or pushing it along; they even took some pictures of him in the act of folding it up for easier transport. When they took a break, he unfolded it and rode it around his living room a little, stopping by the buffet table for a pastry and a fresh coffee.

Midway through, Prussia (now in shorts, a Hawaiian shirt, and a straw hat) exchanged his resin beer prop for a fancy rolling suitcase. "Hey, what about the albino bird?" he remembered.

"That's next," the director told him. "I need a few more photos of this shot – it's going to be in front of the Messecenter –"

"Hey, we were there last year!" Prussia interrupted, throwing his hat in the air.

"– and then we can get to the zoo scenes."

Romano, now in black shorts and a black t-shirt with a hardcore angel design stenciled on it, stomped over and grabbed Prussia, pinning his arms to his sides. "Will you please shut up, bastard?" he hissed into his friend's ear. "You're distracting everybody!"

"Kesesese, yes, all right. Will you keep hugging me?"

"No, dammit." Romano went back to his position in front of the screen.

Every now and then they caught the director staring at them with that strange expression. It was beginning to unnerve all of them a little.

…

The zoo shots were fun. These were done in front of the green screen as well, but they got to play with the little lorikeets, which were adorable. The albino would not leave Prussia, choosing to sit on his finger and sip sugared liquid out of a little cup he held in his other hand. The rainbow bird was passed between Den and Romano alternately, and was equally cute, though Prussia would not admit that.

Denmark tried to get the bird to drink some coffee, but it refused, so he drank the coffee instead. At this, both Romano and Prussia got little funny looks on their faces and smirked at each other. They might need to start keeping Den in line, if he began to get funny about coffee.

…

After the zoo scene, it was time to model on a fake beach. A plastic tarp had been spread on the floor and strewn with sand, heaped artistically into small piles. Prussia was dressed in black swim trunks, dark goggles perched on his forehead. He and Den were posed opposite each other as if they were mid-volleyball game. Denmark had on red-and-white trunks and had had his makeup touched up before the new shooting began. Romano was not needed for this part, so he sat off to the side in green swim trunks, just in case they wanted to put him into a scene later. The green screen had been exchanged for a large backdrop printed with the scene of a Danish beach.

Unfortunately, instead of merely posing, Prussia kept actively trying to play volleyball, and either ended up knocking over the lights, careening into the camera, or hitting someone with the volleyball. One camera was already out of commission. "Prussia! Get your ass in gear, and focus. I'm sick of all your maniac bullshit!"

"Don't worry about it, Den! I know you're sauced on coffee, kesesese, so I won't get upset with you for yelling at me. But listen, I am having _so much fun._ I love having my picture taken, and it's _so awesome _to know it will be used in an ad campaign! West is going to be so jealous. Hey, _Romano!" _ he yelled, even though Romano was only about twelve feet away. "You should be up here too! You always look so good at the beach! You could give me another awesome sunscreen backrub!" Prussia jumped up and down in his excitement.

Everyone in the room turned to appraise Romano, who turned red and covered his face with his hand. "Just – shut up, albino potato, and do what Den needs you to do!"

So Prussia tried to focus while they finished the beach pictures.

"Whoops! Sorry!" he yelled, after slipping on the sand-covered tarp and falling into the arms of a nearby cameraman. "Kesesese. I really am sorry."

The cameraman just looked up at him with adoring eyes.

…

Somehow over the next hour the director managed to get all the remaining shots he'd planned on (despite the setbacks introduced by Prussia, and Den's increasingly-irritated responses). The man's disturbing stare continued to freak Romano out, and he was almost beginning to wonder whether this photo shoot had been such a good idea. But Denmark knew the guy, and Den did this every year, so – it was probably all right.

…

At the end of the day they changed back into their own clothing. Each of them was allowed to keep one thing from the shoot.

Romano kept the white linen suit. If he looked that good in it, he planned to get some good mileage out of it. He'd take it on their vacation this summer. Yes, if he were going to do that, then he'd definitely ask England to join them on the vacation. He snickered a little. He could get a _lot_ of mileage out of this suit.

Denmark kept the folding bike. It was the latest model, much better than his old bike. He brought it to the center of the room and spent some time caressing it, thinking about all the bike jaunts he'd make this summer. Hell, he might even take it on the American summer vacation! It folded up so nicely and was so lightweight. While they waited for Prussia to make up his mind, he absently did some arm curls with the folded bike.

Prussia was torn. He really liked the albino lorikeet, but it had to go back to the zoo. It was a nice little bird and hadn't tried anything funny with him. Perhaps it sensed a kindred albino spirit? But he also knew West would kill him, if he brought home a pet of any kind. It was bad enough how much he argued with his brother about Gilbird. Plus, Gilbird might get jealous. So eventually he was waffling between the shuffleboard tang and the suitcase. In the end, he chose the suitcase, so he could use it on their summer vacation. The suitcase West had given him was like a hundred years old and really shabby. So not awesome. This one had _wheels!_

"At least it will be easier to carry than the fucking shuffleboard thing," Romano pointed out.

"I know. It will always remind me of Den and you and this awesome day we've had together. You know I love you."

Romano hugged him wordlessly. "So we're done now?" he asked Den. Most of the crew had left the room; all the remaining props and equipment were outside being loaded on the truck, except the tang, because Prussia had still been considering taking it home. Of all the photo crew, only the director remained, still staring at them.

That man now cleared his throat. "Ahem. Well, I have been looking at the three of you all day and thinking about something. I'm sure you all know how extraordinarily good-looking you are."

All three of them blushed. Denmark, still holding the folded bicycle, looked off to the side of the room. Romano covered his face with his hand. And Prussia broke into a maniacal grin, crimson eyes flashing. "Kesesese. _We_ _know_." He put an arm around each of his friends and hugged them close.

"I was wondering whether the three of you might like to appear together in a – ahem – a _private_ photo shoot for me?"

A hushed silence fell in the room.

_"What?"_ Denmark began. He dropped the bike.

_"Chigi!"_

"Are you talking about what I think you're talking about?" Prussia demanded. "Not awesome _at all._" He picked up the shuffleboard tang and started smacking the director on the ass. The man ran out of the house, screaming, Prussia in hot pursuit.

…

_So, it's time for some reader input. The next few chapters will be the Seattle mini-vacation and meeting, where they talk to America about places to visit on the vacation. My original plan was to set it in and around LA. However, a couple reviewers suggested they end up in, basically, the middle of nowhere. What would you rather see? A subplot in LA, or one where they start in (say) Minneapolis and head west to…maybe…Boise? If the latter…I don't know much about that route. If you know of any landmarks or tourist attractions along that route, please let me know! I can only get so far with web references for something like that._

_I chose that route so they could stop off at the Corn Palace, especially if Gilbird travels with them._

_Prussia must have been the last nation in the world to own a rolling suitcase._


	18. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 1

_I see there's some kind of glitch going on where this isn't showing up. I deleted the chapter and tried republishing it. I hope it works._

_I also forgot to mention that a lot of artists are creating very fun SB fanarts over on dA. You can find the individual links in my profile, or just go to dA and search on skirmish-brothers. Thanks, everyone! Your art is_ awesome!

_..._

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 1.**

"Wah! I'm so excited, kesesese. I never get vacations."

"You idiot. You never _do_ anything. Your entire _life_ is a fucking vacation."

"Hey, it's no fun if you don't have any money to spend, you know. West is a complete tightwad. The best I can do is go with him when he goes somewhere, which usually means your brother's house. Which is not bad! Don't get me wrong!" he hurriedly said, in case Romano took offense. "But you have to admit it gets a little boring, with them sitting around being sweeties all the time. I'm glad you're not like that, Den."

"I don't even want to know," Romano grumbled, and Denmark ruffled his hair.

"So where are we going? Is Arthur joining us?"

"Uh, well, not this first weekend. He's got too much government shit to deal with; for some reason they're making him work over the weekend, the bastards. But he'll be here Monday for the meeting and then he's staying over next weekend with us."

"Cool. I mean, not that he has to work, but, you know what I mean."

"Why don't we just walk around?" Denmark suggested. "America won't be here until the meeting on Monday, so we can't ask him about anything yet. Let's just see if we can find something fun to do. At least it's a beautiful sunny day."

"Uh."

"What now?"

Romano turned a little red. "England's been to Seattle a lot. He said it can start raining anytime, even if it looked perfectly sunny five minutes ago."

"Ha ha, I bet he likes that."

"Cheh. Yes. Reminds him of home. But we should be prepared to get rained on, I bet."

The three friends geared up, with Denmark carrying a little folding umbrella in his pocket, and headed out to wander the streets of Seattle.

…

"Coffee?" Denmark suggested.

"Sure, I could use a good cup of espresso."

"Seattle's famous for that," Prussia pointed out. The other two looked at him. "Well, it is! I did some vacation research on the computer when West was at work last week."

"Good for you. What else?"

"Well, wait, let's not forget about the coffee. I want to see what spoons they have."

"Fine, bastard. Let's go get coffee and stupid _spoons_."

Prussia flew into a snit when he realized America's coffee shops weren't having the spoon promotion. "That is totally cheap! I flew all the way to Seattle and can't get a spoon. I'm going to give him a piece of my mind."

"Do you have a piece to spare?"

"Shut up, Romano."

"At least the coffee is good." Denmark licked a bit of crema off his lips. "Maybe we should make this our regular stop this week."

"Fine with me. As long as I can get espresso instead of weak drip coffee I'm fine, bastards."

Prussia got a coffee and proceeded to ignore it as they walked on. "Hey! What's that?" he asked, pointing to a structure.

"Space Needle," Romano told him. "Didn't you see that during your research?"

Prussia blushed and Denmark poked him. "Some researcher you are. Remind me not to rely on you when we decide on the summer trip."

"Yes, yes." He finally seemed to remember he was carrying a cup of coffee and drank it all down hastily, throwing the cup away when he was done. "Want to go up, see the awesome views?"

"I don't mind. Anybody scared of heights?"

"Not me, bastard. Let's go up."

By the time they'd ridden the elevator to the top of the Space Needle, the beautiful sunny day had changed to overcast. By the time they'd fought their way through the crowds to the observation deck, the overcast had changed to rain and the deck was nearly empty. "Damn it." Denmark pulled the folding umbrella out of his pocket and the three of them tried to huddle under it. This was not very successful. It was barely big enough to keep Denmark dry.

"I did warn you," Romano smirked. He pulled up the hood of his coat. "Do you want to stay here until it stops?"

"Is it likely to stop soon?"

"How would I know, dammit? I'm no Seattle weather expert!"

A woman standing nearby offered her opinion that it would continue to rain all day, and possibly even through tomorrow as well. Prussia stamped his foot, but Romano thanked her nicely for the information.

"Well, we might as well go back down, then. Can't see anything but rain up here."

At the base of the Space Needle they debated returning to the hotel or continuing to wander in the rain. "I don't mind the rain so much. It's not awesome, but I can deal with it."

"Well, I've got the umbrella, so I'm all right with it. Maybe we can find a museum or something fun indoors?"

"Cheh, whatever. My hood will keep me dry."

They hadn't gone very far when they spotted a sign for the Pacific Science Center. "Want to check it out, bastards?"

"I don't know much about science. Now if it were a _military_ museum—"

There was a brief scuffle. Romano's hood got pulled off and Prussia took a sharp elbow to the ribs.

Denmark had stayed off to the side, under his umbrella, laughing at them. "You two are so much fun to hang out with. Now knock it the fuck off and let's go into the museum."

His friends nodded at each other and walked inside.

"Whoa! This _is_ awesome!" Prussia gaped at all the interactive displays. Even on the entrance level, which was fairly small, there were a lot of interesting things to look at. Unfortunately, there were also an awful lot of school-age children underfoot.

"This is a kids' museum?" Romano asked in disbelief.

"We might as well go through it, since we already paid to get in."

"Come on, albino potato, let's go look," he sighed, but Prussia had taken off and was hanging from the rope on the fulcrum device.

"Check me out, I can lift it at even the hardest level! Kesesese!"

"Idiot. It's a _kids' exhibit_. Of course you're going to be able to do it; you're a grown man!"

"Though you don't always act like it," Denmark pointed out. Before Prussia could either pout or start a fight, he grabbed him by the arm. "Come on, let's go upstairs and leave this level for the little kids."

"All right, Den, you…"

"Party pooper," they all chorused.

Prussia sighed. "I'm getting predictable, aren't I?"

"_Getting_ predictable, bastard?"

This would have led to another scuffle, except that they'd just come out onto the main level, which was teeming with children, parents and teachers. Prussia's attention was completely diverted. "Look! _Robots!_" He ran to the robot display, jumping up and down as a little blond kid tried to make the robot play tic-tac-toe. "I want West to buy me an awesome robot."

"Robots," Romano snorted. "I don't know why anybody's interested in them. That thing just looks creepy."

"You're kidding!" Denmark looked at it, and then looked back at Romano. "You think that's creepy? It just looks like a little crane, or a cherry-picker. What's creepy about it?"

"Chigi! Like it has a brain of its own? Creepy!"

"You're such a chicken," Prussia said, not taking his eyes off the robot. When the blond kid lost, he stormed off in anger, and Prussia immediately swooped in and began controlling the robot in an awesome game of tic-tac-toe.

Prussia also lost, much to the amusement of his friends. "Ha ha, you can't even beat a dumb robot."

"Shut up, Den. It's _artificial intelligence._ That means it's programmed to be intelligent!"

"You have to admit, Den; it wouldn't take much to beat the albino potato at tic-tac-toe." Romano idly began walking away, Denmark following.

When they turned back to look at Prussia, he was standing in place, fists at his sides, fuming. "I hate you guys," he muttered. Denmark grinned at him, walked back, and gave him a hug, and his face changed to a sunny smile. "Aw, Den. I don't hate you." They walked over to Romano. "You, on the other hand…"

"Fuck off." Romano had the good sense to keep his voice low. But when Prussia put an arm around him, he allowed it. The three friends moved towards the Body Works exhibit and spent nearly an hour tinkering with all the displays, testing their strength, reflexes, and cardio.

At the other end of the hall was the museum store, so they wandered in there. "Hmm," Prussia wondered. "Should I get a souvenir today, or save my money and get one at the end of the trip?"

"You still have your spoon money, right? Which you won't be able to spend on spoons. So you could spend it on a souvenir today and still have money for one at the end of the week." Romano thought this was an entirely reasonable suggestion, but –

"No! So not awesome, Romano, because if I spend the spoon money, then when I get home I won't be able to get any more spoons. I only need three more to have the complete collection; it would suck if I couldn't get them all just because I was craving a science souvenir. No, I'll save my money and get one at the end of the week."

"But not here. You'd have to pay another entrance fee to get in, and that would eat up some of your souvenir money." Denmark looked around at the souvenirs as he spoke.

"Uh! I hadn't even thought of that. Yes, then I should probably get something while I'm here. I can get more spoon money from West, I bet."

Den and Romano wandered the store idly, keeping an ear on Prussia's very serious analysis of the items for sale. Much of it he dismissed as too childish (the books and some of the toys), but they had a very cool neon-green hoodie that he liked, with a robot on it. It was a little more than the cost of one spoon, though.

"I really don't know," he mused. "It's an awesome hoodie! And neon green is so right for me."

"How do you figure?" Denmark started laughing. "I thought all colors were so right for you?"

"They _are!_ Stop laughing. You too, Romano. But look! Look how good neon green looks on me." He took off his coat and put the hoodie on over his shirt. "Seriously. Look."

His friends Seriously. Looked.

"You look like a nuclear accident victim, bastard."

Prussia growled. "I wish we weren't standing in a room full of little kids. When we get out of here, I'm going to beat you to a pulp."

"No, you won't," Romano smirked. "You'll get blood all over the hoodie. Besides, you know you love me."

"_Romano!_" Prussia's eyes widened; he picked Romano up and spun him around. "I _do! _I _do_ love you!" he yelled.

Denmark was leaning against the wall, laughing, but most of the parents were dragging their children out of reach. "Chigi! Put me down! Put me down, you insane albino!"

"Kesesese! You just made my day, my Italian friend. I don't need a neon green hoodie or anything else. You've just given me the best memory of this whole vacation." He let go of Romano, who scooted backward until he reached the wall, and then Prussia took off the hoodie and hung it back up.

"Crazy bastard. This vacation's barely started. How can you say that's the best memory?" Romano raked a hand through his hair, and then fixed it.

"You'll see. When the three of us are together – and even if my awesome friend Arthur is with us – I would place a bet that there won't be anything better than that."

"You're on," Denmark said immediately. "What are we betting?"

They walked out of the store and back to the exhibits while thinking.

"How the hell are we even going to make this bet? I mean, how can we prove that one memory is better than another?"

"Okay, here," Prussia decided. "I have to be the final person to make the decision. Since I was the one who said it was the best. So, if, _if,_ at any point I decide that some future memory is going to be better than that, well, that means you guys have most awesomely raised the bar for good memories, and that means you have won. If, on the other hand, we finish this vacation and I still think this was the best memory, then I win."

"Yeah, so – then what, albino potato? You want me and Den to spend all week exerting ourselves to make good memories for you?"

"Kesesese. I don't see why not."

"I'm up for a challenge like that, Romano; are you?"

Romano considered. "Possibly. Depends on the terms of the bet. What do we win if we make you say a future memory is better?"

"Hmm. How about whoever loses the bet has to do all the research for the summer trip?"

Prussia laughed crazily. "I don't mind that at all, because I am going to win!"

"Cheh. You've said that before, bastard, and lost."

"But this time I won't, kesesese."

"Will you take that bet, Romano?"

"Let me think a minute. As it stands now, you and I are currently losing. And that means we'd have to do all the research? But if we come up with a better memory for Crazy Boy, then he has to do all the research."

"Right." Denmark nodded.

"Stop calling me crazy."

"Fine. Insane boy."

"Romano—"

"Shut up, you two, until we get the bet figured out. What do you think, Romano?"

"Nh. I don't want to do all that research, but I also don't trust him to do the research!"

"Fine, let's come up with some other bet." Denmark absently fiddled with his umbrella while he thought. "Oh! Here's a good one. You know the Space Needle has a restaurant on top. Loser, or losers, buy dinner at the Space Needle on our last night here?"

"Well, I could deal with that, but potato brain won't have the cash, if he's spending it all on souvenirs."

"I won't spend it all on souvenirs! I'm not going to lose the bet, anyway," Prussia cackled. "You'd have to come up with some pretty serious stuff to impress me more than that."

Den and Romano both rolled their eyes. "But would you take that bet?"

Prussia thought about it, bouncing up and down a little. "Yeah, all right. I'll take that bet, but I won't buy Arthur's dinner if I lose, since he's not part of the bet. Deal?"

"Deal." They shook on it.

"Come on," Den said, "there's a planetarium around here somewhere. Let's go see what's showing."

…

_Stay tuned. This Seattle mini-vacation might run several chapters longer than I'd anticipated._

_Also, it's a few years since I've been to the PSC, so I don't remember what that fulcrum thing on the first floor is called. You know. The giant weight thing. If anybody remembers, give me a shout. I'll come back here and fix it._

_"Crema" is the term for the foam that forms on the top of espresso._


	19. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 2

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 2.**

"Arthur! My so awesome friend!"

"Hello, Lucy. How is it possible in any sane world that I have to hug you before I can hug my own boyfriend? Get off." He pushed Prussia aside.

"Don't hug me, bastard, we're in a meeting room!"

"Bollocks! Have you all ganged up on me? I had a miserable red-eye flight, and I had to get off the plane and run right into this bloody meeting, and everybody's getting on my nerves already!" England growled and headed towards the conference table to find a seat.

"Hey, Iggy!" America yelled. "Nice to see you!"

"Great," the island nation muttered. "Another one."

America came over and gave him a little pat on the shoulder. "I got special teabags for you, since I knew you'd be late getting here."

England looked up in amazement. "You _did?_ Thank you. At least _you're_ being nice to me."

"Kesesese, I gave you an awesome hug, I don't know what more you expect from me."

"Just shut it. Everybody leave me alone."

"What about the teabags?"

"Yes, fine, all right, bring me the bloody teabags!"

"Sheesh. If you're going to be like that, forget it." America pouted and walked back to the head of the table.

England sank down into a seat and put his head in his arms. "Where's Denmark? Maybe he'll be nice to me."

"I guess he's still snoozing. We drank a lot last night."

"Figures." He levered himself off the table and headed towards the side table, which held an assortment of sticky American breakfast pastries and urns for coffee and hot water.

When he came back to the table with a cup of tea, Denmark was sitting in his seat with a coffee-shop carry-out tray in front of him. "This day isn't going to get any better, is it?" he growled.

"Shut up, bastard, and come over here, I saved you a seat next to me." Romano frowned and patted the empty seat next to him. England gave him a sweet smile and came to sit.

"Thanks. Sorry."

"Drink your fucking tea." Romano reached for a cup on the carry-out tray.

"What's this? Gourmet coffee? Wankers."

"Hey, I didn't know what kind you liked. Tell me and I'll get some tomorrow for you."

"No thanks, I'll stick with my _fucking tea._" He scowled at Romano.

Prussia and Denmark were seated directly opposite them. While they drank, the four friends watched other nations trickle in through the door. Austria walked in stiffly with a red face and made his way to the top of the table, right near America. "That's odd," Prussia noticed. "Austria doesn't usually like to put himself forward that way."

This mystery was somewhat solved when America peeked around the room and then gave Austria a little peck on the cheek, turning red himself.

"What?" England yelled, but Romano slapped his hand over the blond's mouth.

"Shut up! I want to listen."

Eight ears craned towards the top of the table, but other nations were coming in, so they didn't hear anything useful.

"That's fucking bizarre," Denmark admitted.

"Not as bizarre as that." Prussia used his chin to point towards the front door, where Norway and Russia were walking along together, not quite hand-in-hand but not far off from it.

"Norge?" Denmark stage-whispered. "Has he lost his fucking _mind?_"

"Shh!" the others chorused, watching.

By now all four of them were actively looking around the room, checking for other bizarre couples. Romano nudged England and looked towards the back of the room; Denmark picked up on this and poked Prussia. They all looked. "So what?" Prussia asked. "It's just Swissy and Liechtenstein."

"Git! Liechtenstein is with Iceland!"

Prussia looked again. "Nah. That's just how they happen to be sitting." He looked away.

"I think England's right," Den said in a quiet tone. "Look at Ice. He's _flirting_ with her! She's flirting with _him!_ Oh, man, Swissy's gonna kill him."

They all watched, fascinated, before remembering it was rude to stare. "Bastards…you know…all these people were at the New Year's party! Did we miss out on all this because of your stupid brother?" Romano tried to kick Prussia under the table, but got Den instead.

"Ow."

"Sorry."

"I don't know," the albino admitted. "By the time I'd worked up my nerve to go home, West and Veneziano were the only ones in the house."

"This is too weird, dammit. I definitely want to keep my eyes on this situation."

"You're getting as bad as Hungary and Japan!" Prussia laughed.

"Speaking of…"

They watched Hungary and Japan enter arm-in-arm. He seemed to be explaining the features of a small camera to her, and she was grinning from ear to ear.

"Well, that's nothing awesome. It's not even anything new."

"Who else was at the party, gits? Who else do we need to look for?" England's voice was an alarmed hiss.

"Sweden and Finland, but that's nothing new either."

"Poland and Lithuania, ditto."

"Though Lithuania did tell me Poland was acting kind of funny," Romano remembered. "What if they broke up? Maybe they'd come with someone different to the meeting?"

"They won't break up," the other three laughed. And in fact less than a minute later, the two nations in question came into the room, Poland tripping along lightly with leopard-print high heels and pink lipstick accessorizing his standard uniform, Lithuania smiling softly at his friend.

"Cheh, fine, all right."

"The meeting's about to start!" America hollered. "Get your breakfast and sit down, people! We have a lot to accomplish today."

England groaned one more time and sank his head back onto the table.

…

After lunch, America reconvened the meeting. "Now, per our agenda of today, which I'd just like to point out I've heroically been _very closely adhering to" – _a chorus of snorts and snickers filled the room, but America didn't seem to notice – "we're planning to launch a worldwide –"

"Ve, it's _snowing!_" Veneziano stood up and pointed out the window. Greece, Romano, Spain and Turkey all stood up, too, with excitement on their faces, since they didn't typically get much snow.

"Yes, the forecast is for snow," America admitted. "I, uh…I didn't check the whole weather report this morning, so I don't know how bad it will get, but…Seattle doesn't do well with snow."

"What does that actually mean, mon cher?" France asked him.

"When – when it snows around here, it doesn't snow very hard, but there are lots of power outages from wind, and people freak out. They try to drive and fail, or they stay in and panic when they start running out of groceries. Stores and schools and businesses shut down at the drop of a hat, pretty much as soon as the snow starts falling." By this point everyone, even the Mediterranean nations, was staring at America as if stunned, but he didn't seem to realize there was an issue. "So anyway, about this global initiative…"

He continued to speak for about five full minutes while every nation in the room started surreptitiously discussing weather contingency plans. "But if we get snowed in –!" Liechtenstein said.

"_We_ won't get snowed in," Switzerland assured her.

"But if all the local people are ill-equipped to deal with the snow, Bruder, then perhaps there will be trouble on the streets?" She turned a troubled face to him, but then smiled and looked away – exactly as if someone had squeezed her hand under the table. She flickered a tiny smile towards Iceland, without letting Switzerland see.

"America," Canada asked from his end of the table, "is the hotel equipped to deal with power outages and so forth?"

"Aw, there's – there's nothing to worry about," America replied, with a completely panicked expression on his face.

Austria put a hand over America's supportively.

Prussia boggled. "I just can't believe Austria would put up with him."

"Me neither," England admitted. "If it did start at our party, I'm surprised it went on this long."

The meeting had completely degenerated as everyone talked about the possibility of a snowstorm. Veneziano had dragged Germany to the window and they were staring out at the snowflakes; Greece and Turkey were fighting for the last space in front of the window.

Norway, on the other hand, was being cuddled close to Russia, who'd taken off his scarf and wrapped it around the other nation's neck.

"Gah!" Prussia yelled, jumping out of his chair. "I can't take this anymore!"

The only people who paid attention to him were England and Romano. Denmark was staring at Norway.

"Shut it, git. Sit down."

"No." Prussia sat down. "No, listen. Den, hey, listen."

Denmark reluctantly pulled his gaze from Norway. "What?"

"Well, we seriously need to come up with some kind of a plan in case we get snowed in. I mean, this hotel is pretty bad for socializing. One bar, one restaurant. No arcade, no nothing. We don't have any video games. _What are we going to do?_" he wailed.

"Prussia, behave yourself."

"Shut up, West; go back to your snow-gazing." He turned back to his friends. "I'm serious."

"Don't be an idiot," Romano told him. "You can't get snowed in from places you'd _walk_ to. You can only get snowed in from driving. Right?"

"Yeah, but if all the shops are closed, we won't even be able to get our good coffee," Denmark moaned. He scrubbed his hands through his hair, making it stand up even more than usual.

"But at least we'll be able to get outside. Walk around. We won't be cooped up in here."

"Unless it snows high enough to block the doors! Aah!"

"Shut up, panicky bastard."

"Oi, America! What's the average annual snowfall for Seattle?"

"Five point nine inches annually, averaged over the last ten years," the host nation promptly responded, momentarily diverted from a crisis meeting with Austria.

"Calm down, then, albino potato. Even if they break the record, it's not going to be high enough to block the door."

"I think we should cancel the meeting." Prussia said this in his normal tone of voice, but it seemed that everyone in the room had heard him.

"Ve, I agree! I want to go play in the snow!"

"Italy, there's not even any snow lying on the ground yet! There's no snow to play _in!_ And in any case I'm not certain you brought the proper snow gear with you."

"That bastard is such a killjoy."

"I agree with Prussia," Hungary stood up to say. "The meeting should be cancelled, at least for today."

"What? Why?" America had that panicked look again.

"Ha. The wanker knows that if the meeting gets off track, he's in big trouble." He stood up. "America! I agree with Gilbert."

"You're pretty malicious." Denmark stood up. "I agree with Prussia," he called out over the general hubbub.

The three of them looked at Romano. "Chigi! I can't even get that sentence into my head, let alone make it come out of my mouth. I just can't do it."

"Too bad, because that would be an _awesome memory~…_"

Romano frowned, then he scowled, and then he very quickly stood up and yelled "I-agree-with-the-albino-potato" and sat back down.

"Kesesese! It was pretty awesome, but…not awesome enough, I'm afraid."

Romano growled.

"What the hell's all that about, gits?"

"Tell you later," the half-nation muttered.

By this point the entire meeting was in chaos. "I bet we could just leave and it wouldn't make a difference."

"Yeah. Let's get out of here."

The four of them slipped out of the meeting room and headed for the lone hotel bar to make snow contingency plans.

…

_Thanks to Darkest-Crystal for the suggestion about the New Year's aftermath. I tried to come up with some amusing pairings for you._

_Here in Seattle we're just recovering from a 3-day weak snowstorm with power outages, bad drivers ending up in other people's yards, grocery stores running out of food and everything shutting down, so…it seemed like a good idea to vent by writing about it! Stay tuned for more cabin fever updates._


	20. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 3

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 3.**

"Just throw him on the bed, bastards." Romano turned on the lights so his friends could manhandle the drunken England into the room. They obediently dumped him onto the bed, where he began to snore.

"How does he manage to get so drunk, so fast?" Denmark wondered. "We were only there for two hours!"

"Beats me. You guys going back down?"

"Sure. Want to come with us?"

Romano considered his comatose boyfriend for a moment. "Cheh, sure. Nothing's going to be happening here. Let's go."

…

England woke up the next morning, chipper and cheerful. "Hey, git, what are you doing in that bed? Why aren't you over here with me? Get up! It's a sunny day, look!" He bounced over to the window and opened the curtains. "And it snowed a _lot_! Bloody hell. Hey, wait, why am I still dressed? Oh, I probably passed out, didn't I?" He beamed at Romano. "Thanks for bringing me back up."

"Ohhhhhh…" Romano moaned, pulling the pillow over his head.

"What's the matter with you?" England came back and sat next to him on the bed, poking him.

"Knock it the fuck off. Ow."

"Seriously, Romano, what's wrong? Are you sick?"

"Are you some kind of idiot? I have a hangover! Ohhh…"

"That's rare. How late were we down there? I admit I don't remember much, but I feel great! I wonder why I'm not hung over?" He hopped off the bed and started getting dressed for the meeting.

"Bastard. You passed out at five o'clock. The rest of us kept drinking until midnight."

"_Oh._ Well, that explains that. Want some aspirin? Coffee?"

"Nh…yeah, both." Romano finally crawled out from under the pillow. "Dammit."

"What'd I miss?"

"Well, dinner. We went out after dumping you up here. Figured we might as well get out and do something before the snow hit. Then we came back to the hotel bar and started—oh, _dammit,_" he moaned weakly.

"Dammit what? What did you do, come on, tell me." England brought him the aspirin and a cup of instant coffee made with the warm tap water from the bathroom.

Romano took it without complaining: a sure sign that he was too far gone to notice. "I…uh…I think maybe I sang karaoke with the albino potato?"

"You _what_?" England had to sit down again, he was so flummoxed. "_You_ – sang – _karaoke_ – with_ Gilbert_? _You?_"

"I. Uh. No, now I remember. We didn't. The hotel doesn't have karaoke."

"Thank God. If you're ever going to sing karaoke – with or without Gilbert – I'm hiring a portable recording studio and a film crew."

"Bastard."

England hugged him. "Come on. Get up. Or do you want to stay in bed all day? I'm sure I can make some excuse to America, although knowing him, he'll be quite sophomoric about it and assume we were up having sex all night."

"Chigi! I'll get up." Romano levered himself out of the bed, swaying. "Dammit. I'm going to take a shower. That sometimes helps."

"Want company?"

"Bastard, you're already dressed!"

"Git. If I have a choice between going to a stupid meeting fully-dressed or undressing again and taking a shower with you, which do _you _think I'm going to choose?"

"Cheh. Come on in the bathroom, then."

…

When they got to the meeting room there was nobody there except Prussia. "What the hell's going on?" England wondered. "Was _everybody_ that drunk?"

Prussia had his head on the table. "I hate West. I hate America. I hate everyone."

"That's right, albino potato. You know you hate me."

"Eh."

"Wow, you must be really hung over, Gilbert."

"Eh."

"Where's Denmark, bastard?"

"Went out for the fancy coffee."

England and Romano looked around and noticed the breakfast buffet was not laid. "What happened to breakfast?"

"How the hell should I know?" Prussia moaned. "I hate everybody. I hate breakfast and I hate America."

"Don't we all," England agreed.

Denmark breezed in, carrying the coffee take-out tray. "Hey, hi. I got you tea, since America slacked on breakfast."

"Thank you! Er – do you know where everybody else is?"

"Yep. They're having a snowball fight in the parking lot."

"_Everybody_?"

"Let's go out! I have a strong urge to pelt the potato bastard with a snowball or ten."

"Fine with me, wanker."

"Sure. Coming, Prussia?"

"Yes. I'm going to hit America with a snowball. I want my breakfast!"

…

Denmark was in high spirits during this snowball fight. As usual, he hadn't been very hung over, despite the massive amounts of liquor he'd drunk. He laughed and laughed and kept trying to hit Russia with snowballs, but Russia defended himself (and his snowball-making assistant Norway) easily.

"Hey, Den," Prussia moaned, crouched behind a snow fort wall built adjacent to the hotel dumpster.

"What?" He let fly another one and clocked Russia right in the head, but Russia just laughed and retaliated.

"Hit West with a snowball."

"You do it! You're the one who's pissed off at him."

"I can't move. My head hurts."

Denmark crouched down next to him. "Why are you so mad at him anyway? I thought you were mad at America, about breakfast?"

"I was! I am! I'm just mad at West because – because – well, he's so handy to get mad at. There's always something he's doing that pisses me off."

Denmark peeked over the rampart. "Not at the moment. I think Romano just hit him in the chops with a snowball."

"Good."

They heard some crazy laughter that sounded like Romano's. "That would have been a good memory, if you'd seen it," Den pointed out.

"Eh, forget it. I'm going back in. I'm going to sleep in the meeting room."

"Are you sick? You must be sick."

"Just hung over. Hit America with a snowball for me."

"Will do." As Prussia sloped off, Denmark packed a snowball with chunks of ice and prepared to launch an offensive.

…

"Dammit, that was fun. I wish he hadn't gone off with my idiot brother; I would have kept hitting him."

"I think you just got lucky that one time."

"Spoilsport."

"Come on; let's go back to the meeting room, git. Hey, Den! Coming up?"

"Sure." Denmark was dripping wet, having taken quite a few snowballs from frolicking nations. About the only person who hadn't thrown one at him was Iceland. "I might need to get changed first."

"Where's the albino potato?"

"He was still pretty hung over, and very mad at America for not serving breakfast. He went to take a nap in the meeting room."

"Well, I'm still pretty dry," England pointed out. "I'm just going to go to the meeting."

"Yeah, me too. We'll meet you there, bastard?"

"Fine, see you in a little bit."

…

Prussia was sitting alertly at the meeting table with several plates full of crumbs and other breakfast detritus in front of him.

"What the hell? What have you been doing?"

"They delivered breakfast while you were outside. I ate as much as I could. I feel _great!"_ He got up to get himself some American coffee, doing a little dance in place while it poured into his mug.

"Good for you, git. Did you leave anything for us?"

"Kesesese, not much. Better grab it before everybody else starts coming back."

"Hey, make a plate for Den, potato pig."

Prussia made snorting noises, but went to the buffet and did as directed, dancing and laughing the whole time.

Denmark slipped into the room just a few minutes later, in dry clothing, but with his spiky hair all wet. "Hey, breakfast!"

"I made you a plate, dearest," Prussia crooned, shooting the plate across the table.

"Only because I told you to, bastard."

"Whatever! I'm just happy to eat; I'm starving. I guess my good coffee's cold by now, huh?"

"Ah – well, actually, no, my friend, because I drank it. It was awesome."

Denmark shrugged. "At least somebody enjoyed it. Thanks for the breakfast."

"It's a good thing I put it together for you," Prussia boasted; "there really isn't much left. By the time everybody else gets here, there won't be anything but sticky pastry."

"Hurry up before everybody comes in and starts giving us shit about eating all the food." Romano poked Denmark, who just kept eating.

England took care of removing the dirty plates and cutlery. "Did anybody check the weather? Are we likely to get snowed in?"

"It's not snowing now, you know. In fact the whole time we were outside – even when I went for the coffee – it wasn't snowing. Maybe it's all done."

"That would be, well, yes, it would be awesome." Prussia put his head in his hands and sighed. "I really was not looking forward to enforced hotel entertainment."

England snickered. "I heard you and Romano were going to sing karaoke last night."

"Yes, damn it, but the hotel didn't have it! I was so mad. We'd make such beautiful music together, you know," he said to Romano.

A weak "Chigi" was the only response to this.

The other nations began filtering in. "Shit. Let's act like we're having an important discussion so nobody starts bitching about the food," Romano then hissed. They watched people flow up to the buffet table and start milling around in confusion.

America swept into the room with a big grin.

"America! Where is all the breakfast?" Switzerland asked, pulling out a gun and idly aiming it at the host nation, who as usual was completely oblivious.

"Don't worry about it, man! It's 11:30, I told them just to go ahead and bring up lunch. It should be here in about five minutes."

"Dammit. It figures."

"Well, at least we had an awesome breakfast." Prussia burped.

…

_Sorry. Whenever I get England and Romano into a hotel room together they get distracted that way._


	21. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 4

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 4.**

"Thank all the gods that's over," Denmark moaned. "This may have been the most boring week of meetings I've ever been to. Let's go drink."

"Bastard. Let's go have dinner first."

"We need to talk about what we're going to do this weekend, too," Prussia decided. "Before we get drunk."

"I'm not getting drunk. I've been drinking too much this week. I might have _a_ drink, or a couple, but I'm not getting drunk."

"Romano, you –"

"But he's probably right," Den interrupted, ruffling Prussia's hair. "You haven't had such a good week of it, either, you know."

"Kesesese! You're really so good to me, Denmark, looking out for me this way."

"Shut up, both of you. Where's the mystic bastard?"

"How should we know? You're the one holding the leash."

"Dammit, just shut up."

Just then England wandered out of the meeting room. "What are you gits doing standing around?"

They all stared at him. "Waiting for you, moron. Come on."

"Oh."

They decided to go out somewhere for dinner. No more snow had fallen, to the dismay of many, but the meetings had run late almost every night, which meant everyone had been too tired or too lazy to go out for dinner. Every night had been a meal in the hotel restaurant with all the other nations around, and everyone was getting sick of it.

"What about the Space Needle?" England suggested. "There's a restaurant up there."

"Oh, no, we're saving that for our last night here. Kesesese. I'm surprised Romano hasn't told you about that."

"Cheh, I just forgot, that's all. Come on, let's go find someplace."

…

In the restaurant they discussed weekend plans while they waited for the food to arrive.

"We didn't really have anything in particular to do, did we?" Denmark drank some coffee.

"There was that music museum we read about online. That could be fun. I know Arthur is very fond of rock and roll."

"'Very fond of rock and roll,'" Romano snorted. "You sound like somebody's grandmother."

"Aw, knock it off, Romano. Maybe they have a karaoke machine there and we can sing together!"

"Argh."

"Well, that's right near the Space Needle, so maybe we could do that right before the dinner."

Romano fidgeted in his seat. "Well, I'm sure singing karaoke with the albino potato would be an…awesome memory…" His voice trailed off weakly. "Wouldn't it?" He gave Prussia an almost pathetic look.

Denmark laughed at him. "You're really getting desperate, aren't you? Don't worry; we'll come up with something so you don't have to sing karaoke with him, unless you want to. It'll be easier to find something if we're not in the damn meeting room all the time."

"_Thank you_, Den," Romano replied fervently. "Thank you so much."

"I don't suppose any of you wankers are going to tell me what you're talking about?"

They all thought about this. "Nope, no point," Prussia concluded. "Don't worry about it. Just a little vacation bet."

"Oh. Yes, you're right; I'm going to forget it. Your bets are always a little weird."

"You could show him your underwear," Den suggested to Romano.

"Yes!" Poke.

"No!" Swat.

Just then the food came.

"Well…there is something I'd like to do," England eventually said in a rather humble tone. He looked down at his plate. "Every time I come to Seattle I try to schedule it, and it never works out."

The other three looked at him curiously. It was rare for him to be so meek.

"Well?" Romano poked him.

"There's a – a waterfront park, on Lake Washington, in a town with a lot of little shops and things; I've read that it's very scenic, and I – I just wanted to go there." He was still staring at his plate.

His friends looked at each other. "May we ask why?" Denmark used the tone of voice you might use to a troubled child. "Surely there are places like that in your country."

"Er."

"What's the name of this awesome place?"

"Er."

"Bastard, what the fuck? What's the matter with you?" Romano shook him violently. "Are you all right?"

"It's called Kirkland, all right!" he yelled, loud enough to gain the attention of everyone in the restaurant. Then he sank his red face into his hands and put his elbows on the table.

Denmark smiled at him, but Prussia started his mad cackling. "That _is_ awesome! Wish there was a town called Beilschmidt around here. Yes, I think we should go to the awesome Kirkland for my friend and maybe take a lot of pictures, too. What do you guys think?"

England still had his head in his hands. Romano leaned over and gave him a very brief hug with one arm. "Bastard, don't be stupid; of course we can go to Kirkland for you. Who knows, we might come up with some awesome memory while we're there." He sighed. "We don't seem to be having much luck with that in Seattle."

"Be fair, Romano, we've been stuck in meetings all week. So we're going to go to this Kirkland? Do we need to rent a car?" Den asked.

"Eh, it's not that far, we can take a cab, my treat," England offered. "Since it was my idea."

"Kesesese! I love cab rides!"

"And Germany never lets you ride in cabs. Right?" Denmark hugged him.

"That's so true, my awesome friend." Prussia hugged him back.

"Wait, wait. What about the weather, bastards? Is it going to snow again? Or rain? I don't see the point in wandering around a lakefront park in the rain."

"Good point! Hadn't thought of that. England, do you know?"

"The weather is supposed to be fine and clear all weekend." He still wouldn't look up, but at least his conversational tone was sounding more normal, less embarrassed.

"Well, this is all good, then! We can go there tomorrow morning, and spend as long as we like, and then go off and do something else if it's a small place." Denmark finished his meal and pushed the plate away.

"We ought to figure out what we're going to do afterwards, dammit. In case it's a small place and bor—" Romano cut himself off and put a hand on England's shoulder. "In case it's a small place."

England finally lifted his head and looked at his friends. "It probably is boring. It's named Kirkland, after all." He managed a brave smile, and this time Romano did give him a real hug.

"Shut up, stupid. You're not boring. Finish eating. We can go back to the hotel and do some research about where to go after Kirkland."

"Thanks, gits." England finished his food.

…

_Just for fun I looked up "Beilschmidt" on Bing Maps and found a street in Illinois, but no towns. Poor Gilbert._


	22. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 5

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 5.**

"Boy, it's a good thing America was still in the hotel today! We went all week without asking him about places for the summer vacation." Prussia struggled into his coat as they went outside to catch a cab.

"I'm glad we decided on LA, bastards. I've always wondered about that place."

"Are you coming with us on this vacation, Arthur?"

"Ha. Do you think I'd pass it up? Los Angeles is bloody awesome, I have to admit, and I don't mind hanging out with you wankers since you're going to Kirkland with me." He blushed and flagged down a taxi.

Denmark sat in the front. England ended up wedged between his two friends in the back seat.

"Quit crowding me, bastard." Romano shoved him over towards Prussia.

"Arthur! Stop leaning on me!"

England put his head on his knees and growled.

In a short amount of time they'd reached Marina Park in Kirkland and paid off the cab driver, who left. It was, indeed, a beautiful day, if cold.

"Wah! Look at the lake!" Prussia went running right up to the edge of the lake. "I wonder how cold it is."

"It's _February_, you idiotic potato. It's freezing."

"Oh. Well, yeah." He reluctantly came back from the water's edge, but they stood admiring the view for a little while. Lots of people with kids and dogs were wandering around.

"I wonder how much these condos cost." Denmark looked around. "Probably a pretty penny."

"I wouldn't be surprised. Waterfront real estate is pretty high no matter where you look, unless it's in the middle of nowhere. You gits want to walk?"

"Cheh, yes, let's."

Over the course of the morning they visited lots of the little shops, took a lot of pictures, and wandered vaguely uphill on Central Way. Nothing too exciting happened until they happened to pass Wing Dome at lunchtime.

"Hey! I love chicken wings. Can we eat lunch here?"

"Den? How did I never know you liked wings? I don't mind, kesesese. How about you two?"

Romano and England didn't have a problem with this, either; the menu in the window had salads and other items.

After they had been seated, they looked around. In the corner, a beefy man at a table with some friends was covered in sauce and laughing, with tears running down his face. "What the fuck?"

The waitress heard Romano's outburst. Seeming not to take offense, she explained the restaurant's Seven Deadly Wings challenge. "Seven _very hot_ wings, seven minutes. No drinks, no dips, no napkins. Clean all seven wings down to the bone in seven minutes and the meal is free. You'll get a shirt, and we'll put your picture on the wall." She gestured towards the wall. "Take some time with the menus; let me know if you're interested in the challenge."

As she wandered off, Prussia began to get that gleam in his eye.

"No way, bastard. You're _not_. Look at that guy! He's crying! Like a fucking _baby!_"

But Denmark looked like he was considering it, too.

Romano turned to England. "You – uh, dammit, you're not going to do this, too, are you?"

"Ha. Absolutely not. Though if one of these guys does, I might try testing a little of the sauce, just to see how 'deadly' these things are."

"I can handle it," Prussia decided. "Plus then I'll get the wings for free, and I'll have extra souvenir money!"

"Or extra money to pay for dinner tomorrow, if you lose the bet," Denmark laughed at him.

"I won't lose, I'm telling you."

"But won't it be an awesome memory, if you finish this wing challenge? Your picture will be on the wall! In Kirkland! Since Denmark picked this restaurant, that would mean he won the bet, potato brain. So you'd better finish this challenge and save the wing money for dinner tomorrow night." Romano leaned back in his chair, pleased with his logic.

"Whatever. I'm going to take the challenge. We'll see how awesome it really is. What if I – no, I can't even say it. It can't happen." Prussia picked up the menu but didn't really look at it.

"You mean 'what if you fail'?" England snorted. "I'm getting my camera out. I bet I have seven minutes' worth of memory left to make a video of you gits taking this challenge."

"Good idea, bastard."

The waitress came and took their orders, a salad and lemonade for Romano; sweetened iced tea and plain wings for England, since he'd need a hand to operate the camera. She smiled when both Denmark and Prussia accepted the challenge.

When the orders came out, everyone in the restaurant watched the two nations with interest. Romano spared a moment to drink some lemonade. England raised his iced tea glass in a toast to his friends and wished them luck, before he turned on the camera.

Wing one: "Pfft, this is nothing," Prussia said. "West and I eat hotter wings than this every day."

True to his intention, England tasted a bit of the sauce. Tears nearly fell, but he was strong. He raised his eyebrows and offered a saucy fingertip to Romano, who shook his head no, so he licked it off_._

Den plowed through his first wing without a problem.

"Hey, Romano, time us. I don't want to have to shove down three wings in the last minute because I'm too busy socializing."

Romano looked at his watch. "Go for it, you still have more than six minutes left."

Wing two: "It'd be better if we could use napkins." This from Denmark, who was looking a little saucy around the mouth, but not seeming troubled by the heat of the wings. Several restaurant patrons were watching with interest now.

"At least your hair won't get covered in sauce, since it's sticking up so much." Romano calmly ate some more of his lunch; England was still manning the camera with one hand and eating his plain wings with the other.

Wing three: "Delish," Prussia said, although his face was getting a little red. Romano elbowed England, who laughed and drank some iced tea.

Wing four: "My gums and tongue are getting numb," Den laughed. "But the hotness is not a problem."

"'Cause you're so hot already," Prussia agreed, licking his fingers clean. He turned to look at Denmark. "Whoa! Your face is really red!"

"So is yours. Eat."

"How much time we got, Romano?" Prussia managed, with a mouthful of his fifth wing.

"You wankers should have made a bet about this one."

"One bet at a time," Denmark argued, smearing sauce off his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Three minutes left. Both you bastards are doing great. I'm surprised."

Many more diners were watching. Prussia's eyes were tearing up, and he managed to blot them discreetly with his sleeve, so he wouldn't get hot sauce in his eyes. Denmark started coughing.

"You all right? Dammit, you look really bad!"

Den nodded. "'M all right…just…so…numb…"

Prussia groped for his sixth chicken wing; apparently the tears were now obscuring his vision so much he couldn't see the plate. "Damn," he moaned. "Maybe I _am_ going to fail." He nibbled daintily and leaned against Denmark. "H-how're you doing, Den," he whimpered.

Denmark just grunted and reached for his sixth wing, eyes streaming. People were standing up at their tables, looking at the two nations, looking at the nearly-empty plates. The waitress and a few staff members came out and stood nearby.

"You're both looking pretty scary, bastards."

"Don't forget, you have to lick your fingers entirely clean," the waitress reminded them.

Prussia groaned. "My heart hurts." He had sauce all over his face and in his hair, somehow.

"Gilbert, if it's that difficult, just stop. Stop and have a drink. It's only seven dollars!" England pushed his iced tea towards the albino, but didn't stop filming.

Denmark looked at the last wing and broke down. "I quit." He grabbed Romano's lemonade and finished all the rest of it in one go. He picked up a napkin to wipe off his fingers and another one to dab at his eyes, taking deep, shuddering breaths, laying his head on the table.

Prussia had the seventh wing in his hand. He reached it up towards his mouth. And everyone later agreed that he might have completed the challenge, if Denmark hadn't then said, "Damn it, that lemonade was just what I needed to take the fire away. Cold and sweet. Thanks, Romano."

Prussia squinted at the empty lemonade glass, and then the nearly-full glass of iced tea in front of him. He reached the wing towards his mouth again, but then dropped it on the plate. "I quit," he moaned. Then he drank the iced tea.

The waitress took the plates away, shaking her head, and Prussia laid _his_ head on the table, trying to blot his eyes with a napkin. "Oh, my God," he groaned. "People actually _finish_ that challenge?"

"Not many," Romano admitted, looking at the wall of fame.

"Unh. Not an awesome memory. I ought to dock points for this."

"It was _your idea,_ albino potato! Don't try to blame us!"

England had paid the bill while this was going on. "Are you two able to walk? Let's get out of here."

"Uh. Better wash our hands, first. Make sure all that sauce is completely off. Plus your hair is full of sauce, Prussia. Come on." Den led his friend to the men's room, both still looking somewhat bleary.

"Dammit."

"Come on, we can wait for them outside."

…

"What the hell's taking them so long? Bastards."

England snickered. Then he looked into the restaurant. "Oh, here they come. Looks like they got more lemonade, to go."

"So that sauce was really hot, huh?"

"Git. Do you think Gilbert would have quit the challenge if it weren't?"

"Cheh, I guess not. Well, better him than me."

Denmark and Prussia came out of the restaurants slurping deeply; Prussia's hair had a weak orange tint in places. "Well, that was a memory, I guess," Denmark laughed. "Too bad it wasn't a good one."

"At least I can say I tried it. Maybe I should bring West over here and see if he can manage it."

"Long cab drive just for that, bastard, though I admit it would be very funny to watch it."

"Oh, there's got to be one in Seattle. We can look it up later, maybe take him and Veneziano there tonight? Ha ha."

"Yeah, maybe. Where are we going now?"

"Let's keep going up the hill," England suggested. "Maybe there's something on the other side of the highway."

"Why not," Prussia agreed, and slapped his friend on the back.

The friends walked up the hill in the weak sunshine, aiming for the underpass, talking of nothing in particular. Up here, the shops were set back further from the road, so they didn't bother going in to any.

Once they'd passed under the highway, Denmark pointed to a Starbucks ahead. "Let's go get some coffee. I'm not ready to eat anything, but a good iced caramel macchiato would be perfect right now."

"I don't know why they always tart up their perfectly good espresso with all this sugar and flavor and shit," Romano grumbled. "It's just fine, plain!"

"Ah, you know America. He likes to put all this junk into coffee, so he can still consider it a coffee, even though it's full of treats."

"Kesesese, just like he does with smoothies, so he can fool himself into thinking it's healthy."

"Dammit. I really do have to wonder why he doesn't weigh eight hundred pounds."

"That's true. With all those burgers…"

"Hey, bastard, how the hell did America get started on hamburgers, anyway?" Romano tried to nudge England with his elbow, but it met only air. "Uh – bastard? England?"

They turned around and saw the island nation standing a full block behind them, stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, staring up at the horizon. His jaw was slack.

All three friends ran back to him. "Hey! England! Are you all right?" Denmark waved his hand up and down in front of his glazed face.

"Bastard, now what's wrong?" Romano hugged him, but he still didn't respond.

"Could he be having some kind of seizure?" Prussia wondered.

"Chigi! He doesn't have seizures. England, snap out of it!" Romano shook his arm, but England still didn't react.

"Seriously, Arthur, what's the problem?" Even Prussia was getting a little perturbed now.

The blond raised his arm as if he were in a dream and pointed to something, not changing his expression or responding in any other way. Almost dreading what they'd see, the other three turned slowly in place, their eyes following his pointing finger, which then fell limply back to his side.

"_Ch-chigi! _What the hell is _that_ doing there?"

"_Kesesese~_! Wow!"

"Hey! That looks great! Better than I'd have guessed."

Romano walked around behind England and hid his face against his friend's shoulder. "It's not _summertime,_ dammit! Please tell me I'm dreaming."

"If they waited until summer, everyone would have already made plans," Denmark informed him.

"You're _not_ dreaming, Romano. This is _awesome~_!" Prussia jumped up and down in place, clapping his hands.

Romano dared to peek at Prussia. "Just _how_ awesome?"

"Yes, I fully admit it. _This_ is the most awesome memory of this vacation, so far! I'm perfectly willing to admit that and I lose the bet and this is the most fabulous thing that's ever happened, _ever_, right, Den?" He scooted over to hug Denmark, trying to spin him around. "Even better than the Nürburgring!"

Denmark merely nodded, grinning, but Romano – although relieved about the bet – couldn't look up, and hid his face again.

"Too bad we can't climb up there and take a picture!" Prussia mused. But it was really much too high up. They eyed it for a while with varying degrees of interest – Romano continuing to hide his flaming face periodically – but England just stood on the sidewalk like a zombie, a bit of drool forming at the corner of his mouth, as he stared up at the gigantic billboard showing his three friends in cruisewear, advertising Danish Summer Tourism.

…

_Yes, there is a Wing Dome, and yes, that is a real challenge. Never saw anyone complete it in person, although there are pictures on the wall. I myself have never dared try it._


	23. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 6

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 6.**

"I can't believe your _little_ _brother_ passed the wing challenge!" Prussia was still fuming the next morning. "That's such a bad memory; I might have to recant from yesterday." The waitress brought their breakfasts.

"Shut up. You're an idiot for suggesting it." Romano jabbed Prussia with an elbow and reached for the butter.

"Though I'm glad West failed. I'd feel pretty bad if _he'd_ passed, too."

"Are you sure Veneziano didn't cheat?" Denmark asked, for about the tenth time that morning. "He did have lemonade there. And he didn't look nearly as sauce-covered as we did."

"Cheh. He's just got better table manners than you morons."

"Where's Arthur?"

"Hung over. I'll go wake him up when we're done with breakfast."

England had felt very, very bad that Veneziano had been man enough to take the wing challenge and he hadn't, leading to some serious overindulgence in the hotel bar the previous night, and then some seriously stroppy behavior. Denmark had been happy to haul him up to the hotel room just to get him out of their hair.

"So, music museum today, right? What else?"

"Let's go to the coffee shop after we get Arthur out of bed. I'm sure he could use a hot, strong coffee."

"Yeah. Dump it on his fucking head," Romano grumbled.

…

But once again England was remarkably (nay, obnoxiously) bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when they woke him up. Prussia had jumped on him, on the bed, hoping to push him into an argument, but England had simply hugged him with a smile and gotten out of the bed.

"So what are we doing?" he asked, once they were outside the hotel.

"How the fuck can you be so _cheerful_?" Denmark was continually astonished by this. "You were _so drunk!_"

"Well, what about you? You drink a lot more than I do, and you're never hung over."

"I'm more accustomed to it, that's all."

The island nation laughed. "Guess I'm catching up with you." He hummed a happy little tune and tried to spin Romano around, but Romano pushed him away.

"Get off, bastard."

"Fine." He hugged Prussia, who hugged him back. "Aw. Gilbert, you are so good to me."

"I know, kesesese. Come on, we're going for coffee."

…

Drinks in hand, the friends decided to wander down along the waterfront. "Seattle's a cruise ship port, but it's not really busy down here," Denmark said, surprised. "I wonder why?"

"It's the _middle of winter_, git. All the Seattle cruises go to Alaska. They can't sail in freezing weather! And by the way, I'm still irritated that none of you told me you were modeling for tourism ads."

"Why didn't you tell him, Romano? You called him to come over, right? Oh yeah," Prussia answered his own question, "because he came to dinner with us that night. Why didn't you tell him?" he repeated.

"Cheh. Felt stupid saying it."

"Wanker."

"Bastard."

…

Pike Place Market was extremely crowded. The friends pushed their way through, looking around at this and that, wondering what was so fabulous about it. Romano had found information about it on the internet and suggested they wander through, but it was noisy and the little shops were nothing particularly special.

While walking down the aisle, a giant fish went flying through the air past Prussia's head. "What the fuck?" The people in the crowd laughed at him. He looked around to see the fishmonger near him in the middle of a crowd of spectators, cradling a giant whole fish in his arms, laughing and yelling at the crowd. The man then threw the fish back to his colleague behind the shop counter and winked at Prussia, who grabbed Denmark by the arm and stomped off. "Why are they throwing fish around?"

"It's a tourist thing," Romano told him, scurrying to keep up. "I don't know why they do it but they're famous for it."

"They shouldn't just spring that on unsuspecting passersby. You should have warned me."

"Cheh, I forgot, all right? And I didn't know this was the part of the place where the fish guy was anyway."

"Come on, move it, then you won't get hit. Let's get out of here, this is stupid." This time Denmark grabbed Prussia and they all went back outside amidst the raucous yelling of shop owners and tourists.

"I really have to wonder how some of this stuff gets its reputation as important tourist things to see," England admitted.

"Let's get some more coffee," Romano suggested. That was his universal panacea.

"Might as well. Then maybe we should head to the music museum."

…

The music museum (the Experience Music Project, or EMP) was not as crowded as the foot-traffic areas had been. All four of them stopped and stared in consternation at the bizarre building, which looked as though it were made out of a pile of scrap metal. "Th-that's a very strange design," said Italy Romano, home to thousands of years of exquisite classical architecture.

"Kesesese! It looks like some giant blew his nose with a metal tissue and dropped it on the street!"

They stared for a little while longer before recalling the purpose of their visit. "Come on, gits, are we going in, or what?"

They threw away their empty coffee cups and went into the strange building.

…

"Horror films! Awesome, I'd love to look at an exhibit of horror film stuff."

"I don't mind," Denmark said equably.

England shrugged. "Me neither."

They all turned and looked at Romano, who was grinding his teeth and bright red. "Dammit!" He turned away, but both Prussia and Denmark hugged him.

"We don't have to do it, Romano," Den said.

"Since we love you," Prussia added.

"Chigi! Get off me." He pushed them away and swept his hair out of his face. "But thanks."

England rolled his eyes. "I'll babysit him, if you want to go look at it."

Romano punched him. "You don't have to stay with me, stupid! I can wait in the shop or something!"

"Don't worry about it. We can save that for last and see how we do, all right? Kesesese!"

"Yeah, all right." They sloped off towards the other exhibits.

…

After some wandering around, investigating the music and science fiction exhibits (which even Romano had to admit were mostly pretty interesting), they came out on the third floor. "Hey! Check this out," Den said. "Interactive music! We can go play and sing, and they'll broadcast it over the museum TVs! That's way better than karaoke. Plus they'll make it into a DVD!"

"Heh heh," England muttered, laughing at Romano, who was red, but he was drowned out by Prussia's squeals of glee.

"Yes, yes, yes! This will completely and awesomely take away the horrible taint of losing the wing challenge to Veneziano. Come on, we have to do it. All four of us."

"You know we'll be great," Denmark added. "They might even give us the DVD for free, since we're so good."

"Wait a minute, wait, wait, just wait," Romano grumbled. "You know I'm no good at rock and roll shit!"

"But you can sing, right?" Prussia hugged him, and he tolerated it because he was too upset about the music to realize what was happening.

"Cheh, yes, I can sing, but I don't know the songs you guys like to play."

"How about something like Sinatra? Or Johnny Mathis?" Denmark was leafing through the music selections.

Prussia and England moved off to the side, leaning together, not daring to breathe; England still had a little smirk on his face.

"I – I do know some of their stuff. But – can you guys play that?"

"It sounds like this really is kind of karaoke-like." Denmark was still reading about it. "It looks like they have a lot of little kids, school groups and whatever, doing it, and you know they're not all going to be able to actually play for real. So they probably have some background music for it."

"We can probably wing it, anyway," Prussia bragged.

"Come look at the song list, Romano."

He crossed to Denmark's side. "Dammit. These are all love songs!"

"Well, of course they are! That's what Mathis and Sinatra were famous for, kesesese." Prussia came over and poked him. England was staring up at the ceiling, playing nonchalant.

"Uh. Well, I do know 'Chances Are,'" Romano admitted. He kept his eyes on the song list, his face quite red.

The other three looked at each other. The island nation was still smirking, and he nodded eagerly at his friends. Denmark and Prussia broke into big smiles. "Awesome! Yes, let's do 'Chances Are.' That will definitely be the best memory of the vacation. And you know what, Romano? You don't even have to sing it to _me_. You can just sing it."

"_Chigi!_ I wouldn't sing a – a – a love song to _you_, albino potato!" Romano turned to stalk away, but Denmark grabbed his arm.

"Come on, don't get mad at him. Let's just go make a good memory."

"Cheh, yes, all right. Whatever!"

They entered the stage area and were directed to the proper places after requesting four copies of the DVD recording. "Do you need the instruments programmed?" the assistant asked.

"If I'm playing keyboards, I probably need the help," England admitted. "Playing 'Chances Are' on a guitar would be tough."

"Um…could you put the lyrics out for me?" Romano asked meekly. "If I freak out I'm not going to remember the words." He turned red and scowled. Prussia patted him on the shoulder supportively.

The assistant got everything set up and stepped out of the area. The music began and the friends began playing.

Romano's singing voice was actually quite moving; none of the others had ever heard him sing before, except a little bit when he'd been drunk. He kept his eyes down on the lyrics sheet, blushing, but he sang very well. Prussia and Denmark grinned at each other and mugged for the camera that they knew was recording them, but England played the keyboards with a sweet expression, listening to his friend sing so melodiously.

Near the end of the song, when he sang, "The one and only one for me," Romano peeked at England shyly; when he saw the soft smile on his friend's face, he blushed again and smiled before quickly turning back to the lyrics sheet. Prussia poked Denmark with the bass when he saw this, and they finished the song.

"Enough of all this sappiness," he said when the song was done; "you guys were all awesome, and I want to do a rock song."

"I told you, bastard, I –"

"You don't have to sing! Playing 'Chances Are' with you was the new most-awesome memory, so thank you. Just stay here with us. You could plink around on the keyboard while Arthur plays the guitar? Since the keyboard can be programmed?"

"Yeah, I can do that."

"What are we going to play?" England asked. He came over and nudged Romano with an elbow, smiling subtly at him. Romano turned red again and ran a hand over his face, turning away, and walked over to the keyboard bench.

"Hey! 'Peace Frog'! I love that song," Den said, looking at the list. "It has a damn good bass riff, too, Prussia."

"Yes, yes, let's. Hey, Arthur, can I sing it?"

"I don't mind. Do you remember the words?"

"Ah, back me up; if I forget, you can sing them. All right?"

"All right."

They called the assistant back in and he set them up before cuing the opening notes for them. Romano didn't even know this song, so he just fiddled around with the keyboard a bit. It was a pretty good rock song, he had to admit, even if the words were a little hardcore. Both England and Prussia took maximum advantage of the rock music to jump around and perform for their invisible audience. Prussia didn't forget the words.

When it was over, Denmark started looking through the song list again, but the assistant apologetically informed them that there was a queue, and they needed to leave the stage.

"Dammit. That was actually kind of fun." They walked out of the area and were met by an appreciative crowd of museumgoers applauding them, having watched the show on the TVs. Romano and England both turned a little red, but Den and Prussia hammed it up, bowing, waving, and blowing kisses, as the four of them exited the area.

"Come on. Let's get our DVDs and go to dinner."

"Kesesese! Yes, come on!" Prussia grabbed Romano's arm and dragged him away.

…

_I was halfway through writing this chapter before I remembered that in this universe, England, Prussia and Denmark are musicians. Duh. Well, it worked out pretty well, I think! I only chose "Peace Frog" because it was on the radio this morning._

_I haven't checked out On Stage at the EMP yet, so I have no idea whether they'd have Johnny Mathis songs available. But Romano singing "Chances Are"...too sweet and romantic; it had to be done. And you know Prussia is going to pull that DVD out at every party he has from now on._

_Stay tuned. Still gotta get through the dinner._


	24. Seattle Meeting, Chapter 7

**Seattle Meeting, Chapter 7.**

Brandishing their DVDs, the friends left the EMP, completely forgetting about the horror movie exhibit. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Prussia jumped in the air, then picked up Romano and spun him around, and then tried to pick up Denmark and spin him around. That attempt failed. "What an awesome day!"

"It _was_ pretty bloody awesome," England murmured to Romano, who blushed.

"Come on. Let's go eat. I'm starving." Denmark grabbed Prussia and hauled him off towards the Space Needle, the others following.

…

"Well, if this week's been any indication, our summer vacation ought to be pretty good," Denmark laughed. "Since we won't have to go to any meetings, just hang out and have fun."

"Yes, and there shouldn't be any weather problems. LA is always sunny and warm."

"Chigi! You know as soon as you say something like that, you tempt fate, and it's going to rain the whole time we're there." Romano drummed his fingers on the table. "You stupid potato."

But Prussia just laughed at him. "You really believe in that kind of thing? We could make a bet?"

"No bets for a while, please, bastard. Trying to win the bet this week nearly killed me."

"Yeah, Romano and I spent more time thinking about the damn bet than we did about the meeting!"

"Not that you missed much," England put in. "Half the stuff on the agenda we're going to have to revisit at the next meeting."

"Thanks for the warning. I think I'll skip it." Romano closed his menu and waited for the waiter. "Where is the next one, anyway?"

"Salzburg, but not until April," Denmark told him. "I'm looking forward to it, though; I love visiting Austria."

"Kesesese! Yes, indeed, my friend Austria does host some wonderful meetings. I may go to that one just to pester him and enjoy the beautiful city."

"There is a lot of beautiful stuff there," England agreed, sighing. "I could easily do a two-week vacation in Salzburg, or Salzburg and Vienna."

Prussia sat up attentively, slapping his menu on the table. "Maybe we should! This _is_ the year of awesome vacations. If we all went to the meeting, we could do like this one, the weekend before and after. And in April there probably wouldn't be too much weather trouble."

"First of all, _first_ of all, albino potato, where the hell are you going to get the money for _another_ vacation? You've been bitching all week about the stupid souvenir money and not being able to cover our bet. You really think the potato bastard's going to give you more money just to go playing around at Austria's place?"

"He might," England laughed. "He might do it just to get Gilbert out of his hair for a while."

"Yeah, but that means Germany would have to put up with Prussia at the meeting all week, too. So he's not really getting him out of his hair." Den elbowed his albino friend.

"You three are all such –"

"Party poopers?" Den and Romano asked, laughing.

"No! I was going to say _wet blankets._"

This archaic term made them all laugh, even Prussia. The waiter came and took their orders.

Denmark put his palms down on the table. "Well…let's talk about this Austria idea. Could we actually do it?"

"I could probably do it," England told him, fiddling with his cutlery, "but I'm not sure you guys want me tagging along on your awesome vacations all year." He grinned at Romano. "I'm sure Romano and I will have plenty of fun together when you two aren't around."

Romano blushed and rubbed his hand over his face. "Shut up, bastard. We can talk about that later."

"Kesesese! You'll be there for the meeting, though, right? So, even if you don't do the flanking weekends, you can hang out with us during the week. Would that work?"

"Works for me," the island nation said easily. "Just let me pick some of the evening sightseeing or restaurants. That all right with you?" He elbowed Romano.

"Cheh, sure, whatever." He drank some coffee.

"But you said you weren't going to that meeting, Romano. Why? Do you have something against Austria?" Prussia pouted a little. "He's really a nice guy!"

"What? No. I just didn't see the point. I don't usually attend meetings, so I didn't plan to go. But I can go, sure. I only came to this one because of our vacation."

"Aw. You know you love vacations."

Everyone ignored this.

The waiter brought their salads. "Oh! I completely forgot to tell you guys," Denmark remembered, smacking himself in the forehead. "Since we did the modeling, we've earned a free cruise, too."

"_Wow!_" Prussia jumped out of his chair, knocking it over. "Den, you're _serious_?"

"Sit down!" Romano hissed at him. "Get a grip on yourself."

"Kesesese, all right," Prussia stage-whispered. He righted his chair and sat back down. "But, Den, are you seriously serious?"

"Yes, I'm seriously serious." He punched Prussia in the arm. "Nine days, traveling to all the Baltic-area capital cities. I was thinking we could go in September, since that will be well after the thrill of our LA vacation has worn off. Will you go?"

"I've never been on a cruise," Romano pointed out. "Even though Rome is a port of call, too. I'd go."

"Well, you _know_ I've never been on one. Stupid West is too much of a cheapskate. I'm going. A free cruise!"

The waiter brought their meals; the three friends eagerly discussed their cruise. England kept out of the discussion entirely except to point out, slightly maliciously, that all three of them might have to share the same stateroom.

"Chigi! I didn't think of that." Romano poked at his penne angrily.

"Aw, it'll be all right. I promise Den and I will behave ourselves."

"Bastard. It's not Den I'm worried about!"

"Romano, you _wound_ me. You know I can awesomely behave well!"

Denmark started laughing at them. "I…don't know about that. Romano may have a point. You know I can put up with you, but…?"

"Damn it. I promise I'll behave, all right? Don't screw up my awesome cruise vacation before I even get started."

"Fine. Whatever. I'm man enough to deal with your stupid albino bullshit."

"Kesesese. Time for another bet!"

Den groaned. "No more bets yet! We'll come up with a bet when the cruise starts."

"And when the LA vacation starts, bastards, don't forget that."

"And in Austria, too, probably. Right?" England glared at them all, and then burst out laughing.

"Yes, indeed." Prussia pushed his empty plate away and burped discreetly.

…

"Damn, that was a really good meal." Denmark looked at all the empty plates on the table and weakly reached for his drink. "This was a really good little vacation, you guys. Thanks."

Prussia leaned over and hugged him. "Are we getting dessert?"

"Ugh. I don't even think I could eat anything else now, dammit. I ate too much."

"Could get some for takeaway. There's a pretty extensive dessert menu." England picked up the menu.

"Kesesese, and you know, you _know_ that America has awesome desserts. Let's look at the menu, anyway."

He and Denmark put their heads together over the menu; Romano and the island nation did the same. There were hushed murmurs around the table. "What the heck. I'll get dessert here. I'm still kind of hungry," Prussia decided.

When the waiter came back, he and Denmark ordered tiramisu, grinning widely at their Italian friend, but Romano blushed and asked for two pieces of apple pie in a takeout box.

The friends sat quietly drinking coffee and digesting until the waiter returned with the plated tiramisu, the boxed dessert, and the check. England took the check from him and paid it immediately, oblivious to the dropped jaws of the other three. The waiter walked away; the blond looked at his friends.

"What? What?" he asked in a panic, when he saw them all staring. "What the hell's the matter with all of you? I just thought I'd pick up the tab! What's the big deal? Is that so bloody rare?"

Prussia leaped out of his chair (knocking it over again) and came to hug him. "Arthur, you are an awesome friend. I love you!"

"Yes, I know you love me, git. I love you too; now go back to your chair." England shoved the albino away, scowling in irritation at the others.

"Never mind about it, bastard. Thanks for paying for dinner," Romano finally sighed, shaking his head.

"Yeah, uh…thanks. That was a – nice gesture." Denmark too seemed to deflate a bit.

"Well? Come on; let's eat our awesome dessert! What a great, great way to end this cool week of vacation."

…

_Whew. The Seattle trip is officially over. Thanks for reading, everyone!_


	25. Wordplay

**Wordplay.**

"Hey! Hey, Romano!" Prussia ran across the street. "What are you doing here? Want to go get some coffee? Huh? Come on, why are you here? You missed me? It's great to see you no matter what!" He ran so fast that Gilbird fell off his head and had to fly across the street on his own.

"You're the biggest fucking idiot in the world. I'm here because I'm supposed to be _meeting you and Denmark._"

"You _are?_ We had plans today?" Prussia stopped and thought about this while Romano frowned and stared at him in irritation. "Are you sure? Maybe you got the wrong date? I don't remember this at all." Gilbird finally caught up and settled in on Prussia's head again.

"You're a complete moron. Let's wait until Den shows up, and then he'll tell you what a moron you are, too. Hi, Gilbird." Romano reached up to stroke the soft feathers with his forefinger.

"Cheep."

"What if he doesn't show up? What if you got the wrong date?" They walked over to sit under the tree. The early spring weather wasn't exactly balmy yet, but it wasn't too bad.

"I didn't get the wrong date, albino potato! Let's – let's just sit down and wait for Den."

"Well, that's stupid. If you _did_ get the wrong date, we'll be sitting around under the tree all day. Let me call him."

Romano handed his cell phone to his chronically technology-free friend and sighed, leaning back against the tree. "Wish you could talk the potato bastard into getting you your own fucking phone."

Prussia dialed. They heard Denmark's ringtone behind them; he didn't bother to answer his phone. "Damn, Prussia, give me a minute, will you? I'm not late yet! In fact, I'm early. Hey, Romano."

"Hi, Den. Potato boy forgot we were meeting today." He rolled his eyes.

"Kesesese! I totally didn't forget!"

"What are you talking about? You spent ten minutes telling me you didn't know we had plans today!"

"But – I – was – _joking~!_ You're so much fun to tease, Romano." Prussia reached out and ruffled his hair.

"Dammit. You're a bastard." He fixed his hair. Denmark and Prussia both laughed at him.

"What are we going to do today, my awesome friends?"

"I want coffee," Romano grumbled. "I _need_ coffee."

"Yes," Den agreed. "I want another iced caramel macchiato like I got in Kirkland. I can see America's point of view more and more now with those things."

"Hey! Speaking of Kirkland, how's my dear Arthur doing?" Prussia nudged Romano with his elbow and helped him stand up so they could walk off to the coffee shop.

"Ah, fine, I guess. Today's his baking day. Making scones." The three friends shuddered as they walked off.

"Good thing you're here with us," Prussia pointed out. "You wouldn't want to get sick."

Denmark thought about this. "Well, but maybe if Romano helped him, he'd actually make edible scones?"

Ten steps later the three of them said "Nah" in unison.

When they reached the coffee shop there was a line outside. "Guess there's a big demand for the fucking spoon of the week, bastard."

"No, the spoon promotion is over." Prussia sighed sadly. "I got them all except the Colosseum. Romano, are your coffee shops having any spoon promotions?"

"Cheh. How would I know? I make my own coffee. The only time I have to buy coffee somewhere is when I'm out with you bastards." They moved inside to order.

"Would – would you check, for me, when you get back? It's such a downer to have every single spoon except that one."

Denmark thought about this as he drank his coffee treat. "Maybe the Colosseum sells souvenir spoons anyway? I mean, they wouldn't match the coffee shop spoons, probably, but…at least you'd have one?"

"No, no, no, Den, that just wouldn't be right. It has to be from the same set."

"Did you try ebay, albino potato?"

"Well…yes, but…West won't let me have an ebay account and I haven't managed to hack his yet. And even if he did, there haven't been any of the spoons listed."

"Too bad," Romano smirked. "Come on, let's walk. It's a pretty nice day."

For a while they discussed the upcoming Austria meeting and plans for it. "I don't even care if we make any actual plans," the Italian admitted. "It was kind of fun in Seattle, just deciding things every day."

"Awesome! Plus, then I don't have to do any research."

"Lazy bastard."

"Listen, though," Den complained. "I like to have some idea of stuff we're going to do. I get really nervous when we're just sitting around bullshitting and wasting time when we could be doing something fun."

Both Romano and Prussia burst into laughter at that.

"What? What are you laughing at?" Denmark looked highly offended.

"Bastard, all we ever _do_ is sit around bullshitting and wasting time!"

"Unless we're _walking around_, bullshitting and wasting time! Kesesese!" He punched Denmark in the shoulder.

Denmark punched him back. "Stupid. You know what I meant."

"Ow. You're a brute." Prussia rubbed his shoulder.

"So what? You've known that for centuries."

"Are we actually doing anything today?" Romano asked, in a halfhearted attempt to make peace between them.

"Eh." This from Denmark, with a shrug.

"I…have a request." Prussia spoke in such a quiet tone that both the others stopped walking and stared at him.

When he didn't continue, Romano elbowed him. "Hello? Anybody in there?" He knocked on Prussia's skull, dislodging Gilbird, who flapped around for a while and then nestled into Denmark's hair.

"I've been thinking about something. You know how superheroes have awesome names? Like Clark Kent is Superman?"

"That's not an awesome name, bastard, that's just a stupid one. You should have said something like Erik Lehnsherr is Magneto. Magneto is a cool name. Superman is a sucky name."

Denmark was shocked. "You actually _know_ about the X-Men?"

"Chigi! Do you think I live in a cave or something? Shut up."

"Anyway, Prussia, why the hell are you asking about superhero names? Going to start a new career?"

"Cheh. 'Potato Man.' Kills acquaintances by frustrating them to death."

Prussia punched him. "I want an awesome name like a superhero."

"You already have a million names, bastard. Prussia, Gilbert, _Lucy_…"

"Teutonic Knights…"

"Den, that's just lame. Nobody's going to go around calling me Teutonic Knights anymore."

"I was just trying to make a point." Denmark finished his iced coffee and threw the cup in a nearby trash can.

"Well, so was I! The point is that I want a superhero name, or a motto, or preferably both. I'm so awesome that I really need something that will stand out. Not just my nation name, or my human name."

"Stupid Boy?"

"Shut up, Romano. You could be Lame Boy."

"Dammit. Is this going to end up like the day we picked our 'awesome team name'? A whole day of spouting stupid names?"

"What's wrong with that? We hung out all day and had fun, and we can do it again! Right, Den?"

"I don't actually mind. It's true we had nothing better to do. Since Romano won't play paintball anymore we're kind of stuck."

"Fine, then I officially declare today 'Come Up with a Cool Name and Motto for Prussia' Day." He did a little dance on the sidewalk. Gilbird came back to sit on his shoulder.

Romano growled. If he'd had any coffee left, he would have flung it at the albino, but he didn't, so he just threw the cup away. "What is this for, anyway? Just who are you expecting to call you by this new name, or use this new motto? Going to put it on a shirt, Stupid Boy?"

Denmark gave him a funny look. "You know, the more idiotic your suggestions are, the longer this is going to take."

"Good point. All right. But…_Potato_ Boy could be good."

"That is not good! First of all, anything with 'boy' is too lame. I have to be Something Man, or else some kind of name that isn't like that."

"Potato _Brain._ Everybody calls you that anyway, bastard."

"You didn't let me finish." Prussia elbowed him. "Second of all, it can't be something that will get people confused with West! He's a potato brain too."

Both his friends began laughing. "I guess Potato Brain really works for you."

"Shut up, Den."

But Denmark softened his comment by putting an arm around his friend and hugging him. "Come on. You know you love Potato Brain."

This time all three of them laughed. "Yes, all right. But seriously."

"Well, you do kind of have a motto already," Romano mused. "That 'you know you love me' shit."

"But I only use that with you. Or, well, sometimes with Den…" His voice trailed off and he blushed.

"Shut up! I don't want to know, dammit."

"Right. Save it for tonight, Teutonic Knights."

"Gah! Will you please take me seriously?" Prussia scrubbed his hands through his hair violently. "Come on. If you two are so smart, put your awesome brains to work. Think of something."

"So…you're telling us, bastard, that you are not smart enough to come up with something? That you don't have an awesome brain?"

Unfortunately for Romano, Prussia did have some coffee left in his cup, and he threw it at him. "Chigi!" It splashed all over his shirt. "You're the world's biggest idiot. Now I have to walk around in a wet shirt all day."

"You could take it off," Denmark suggested in his fake, nonchalant voice.

"Kesesese! Shirtless Boy!"

Romano didn't dignify either of those comments with an answer. He buttoned his jacket over the wet shirt as they walked on.

"Why do you want this name, anyway, Prussia?" Denmark ruffled the white hair affectionately. "Everybody knows how awesome you are –"

"– how awesome you _think_ you are –"

"– so why bother?"

"Because it would be cool! Because we have nothing better to do today."

"I'm almost willing to go play paintball if it will shut him up."

"Really?"

"No." Romano stuck his hands in his jacket pockets. "Want to go in the pet store while we think?"

"No. Let's go somewhere else."

"What else is there? Grocery store, manicures – do _not_ tell me you want a fucking manicure, bastard – shoe store, furniture? Why would we go to any of those places?"

"Eh, let's go to the grocery store," Denmark suggested. "I can pick up some stuff for later."

"Besides, I do my own manicures," Prussia sniffed. He held out his hands for Romano's inspection; the brunet whacked them away. "Kesesese."

So they went into the grocery store. "Grocery Man," Romano suggested.

"Still stupid!" Prussia got a shopping cart, which he pushed and rode on alternately.

"Beer-Brained Bastard. Triple B."

"Wurst Man. Cabbage Hero." Denmark laughed and led them to the bakery aisle.

"No, you can't use 'hero,' or America will throw a fit, bastard."

"Cupcake Man! I love cupcakes." Prussia grabbed three bags of cherry cupcakes and threw them in the cart.

"Do you have any idea how many nations would make fun of you with a name like Cupcake Man?" Romano laughed at him.

"Well, you think of something."

"The Albino Nuisance."

"Hey, yeah. That's a good one, Prussia. Suits you." Denmark took the bags of cherry cupcakes out of the cart and whacked him in the ass with them.

"Shut up. I would think at least you would support me, Den. Hey! Why are you putting the cupcakes back?"

"We're shopping for me, remember? Not for you. If you let me call you Cupcake Boy when we're alone together, I'll let you get them, though." Denmark waggled his eyebrows.

Prussia blushed and stared at him. "Uh – if I do – you'll – you'll seriously help me think of a name?"

Romano snorted. "You know if you let him call you that, he's going to forget, slip up, and say it at a meeting or something."

Prussia went from blushing to blanching. "Uh. You're right. Forget it, Den. No calling me Cupcake Boy, ever."

Denmark pouted and directed them to the prepared foods aisle. "How about just 'cupcake'? That's kind of cute. My little albino cupcake."

_"Chigi!"_

"No. Hey, let's get some sardines." Prussia grabbed a few tins and began checking the expiration dates.

"Prussia! We're shopping for _me_, not for you. Will you get that through your potato brain?" Denmark flicked him in the back of the head.

The albino gave him a lazy smile. "But if I'm staying over tonight…?"

Romano turned right around and stomped into the next aisle.

His friends immediately followed, laughing. "You're too sensitive. You – uh – you need to go see Arthur tonight." Prussia nudged him.

"I _am_ going to see Arthur tonight, idiot. If, and this is a big if, _if_ I don't end up in jail later from beating the shit out of you!"

"Kesesese! You know we love to fight. Now come on, let's help Den get his groceries."

As they walked the aisles, choosing various things that Denmark felt he needed to buy, they threw out more names and mottoes for Prussia. Despite Romano's best intentions to focus and get this over with, all he could come up with were names that annoyed the hell out of his friend. "The Crazy Cabbage."

"Damn it! I don't even _like_ cabbage. That's one of West's deals."

"Well…what do you like? Besides beer and Wurst?" Denmark looked at him speculatively. "And cupcakes, of course."

Prussia blushed again. "Let's not make it a food item, all right? Let's – let's make it something to do with, oh, fighting, I think. Since I'm such an awesome fighter."

"The Strategic Potato."

"Nope, too easy to confuse with West again. And it's food-related, too. Focus, please, Romano."

"You're just too fucking picky, bastard."

Denmark tried to lead them past the pet food aisle, but Gilbird began cheeping madly and flapping around just out of reach. "All right, little one. Come back. We'll buy some bird seed." Prussia extended his hand and the bird landed on it, its cheeps changing to softer chirps as the albino drew it close for a little kiss on the beak. "Come on, you two. Let's get some bird seed for my little fluffy one."

Romano thought about this as they looked at various bags of bird seed. "You're surprisingly gentle with Gilbird," he finally said. "Why is that? You're such a violent bastard with everybody else."

"Hey! The Violent Bastard!" Prussia did a little dance here, too.

"Wear a purple costume and you could be the Violet Bastard," Denmark laughed.

"Well, seriously, I don't want 'bastard' in my name. Everybody would think it was Romano's pet name for me."

"Dammit." Romano kicked him.

"No; everybody knows his pet name for you is the Albino Potato."

Prussia scowled. "_Anyway_, I have to be gentle with my little Gilbird. To protect him and keep him safe. Being as little and weak as he is." At that, the bird began cheeping loudly again, leaving Prussia's extended finger to go sit on Romano's head.

"Just stay away from the hair curl," he warned.

It took the three friends two full hours to proceed through the store. At the end of that time they had a shopping cart brimming with Denmark's groceries, and no suitable name or motto for the albino. Romano was getting hungry and grumpy. Gilbird had returned to Denmark's nestlike hair and fallen asleep.

"This is stupid," Denmark realized. "This is way too much for me to carry home. Or even for me and you to carry together," he told Prussia.

"What if Romano helps? He said he's going to Arthur's anyway, so it's kind of on the way?"

"What do you think, Romano? Can you help carry this stuff?"

"Of course I can, dammit. The question is _will I_?" Denmark pouted at him cutely. "Yes, all right, pouty bastard, I'll help. Come on, pay for it and let's go. Maybe we can solve the stupid albino motto situation on the way."

"If not, we can eat cupcakes while we think about it at Den's place."

"I'm starving," Romano agreed. "I wish you didn't need to get all this stuff home right away. We could go out to eat somewhere."

Denmark looked through the cart. "There's actually nothing perishable in here. We could buy it, go get lunch, and then head to my place?"

"Please," Romano begged.

"Kesesese! All right, that works for me. I'm the Amenable Albino."

Everyone stopped and looked at him carefully while he considered this. "Yes, I could be the Amenable Albino."

"Except for the fact that you are actually never amenable," Romano snorted.

"Well, that's not true. He was amenable about going to lunch." Den wheeled the cart to the checkout and began putting items on the conveyor belt.

"You seriously want people to start calling you the Amenable Albino, bastard?" This seemed a bit dubious to Romano.

"Wh-why not?" Prussia still sounded somewhat distracted by the concept. "I'm amenable, and I'm an albino, so it fits perfectly. Plus then I could have a giant AA on my costume! Kesesese!" He quickly snapped back to normal. "What do you guys think?" He beamed.

"I don't give a damn," Denmark laughed as the cashier rang up his purchases. "I'm going to keep calling you Prussia."

"I don't care, either, bastard. I'll probably keep calling you the albino potato, though, no matter how hard I try otherwise."

"That's okay, Romano. I love you and I'm willing to take that chance." Prussia hugged him in the checkout line. Romano just rolled his eyes and let him.

"So, Amenable Albino…why didn't you want Awesome in your superhero name?" Denmark loaded the cart with the bagged groceries to push outside.

Prussia smacked himself in the forehead. "Can you believe I completely didn't think of it? Damn! All right. What sounds better? The Awesome Amenable Albino or the Amenable Awesome Albino? Triple A! Much better than Triple B, the beer-bellied bastard, or whatever the hell you called me before." He poked Romano.

"This was making sense for a while, but now it's getting ridiculous again, dammit."

"Yeah, Romano's right. You've just gone back into potato brain territory with that. Why don't you just go with the Awesome Albino?"

"Look." Romano, frustrated, whacked him in the arm. "Do you want a name, or a motto? We could probably do one or the other, but having to think of both is making my head hurt."

"You're just suffering from low blood sugar. You'll be all right once we have lunch." Prussia hugged him and then let go to remove some grocery bags from the cart.

"Stop hugging me, dammit."

"The Amenable Albino: Hugs on Demand."

"Ugh!" Both Romano and Prussia punched Den, which as usual had no effect at all.

"Pick up these grocery bags, slackers."

"The Strategic Slacker: finding new ways to goof off since the 13th century."

Prussia stopped in the act of picking up a bag. "Romano, I don't care what you say. You _must_ love me, because you remember all these great facts about Prussia!"

"Cheh. Whatever. How can I not remember, when you're always bragging about them?" He picked up a few bags. "Come on, bastards, let's move."

"Yeah, all right. Come on, Teutonic Knights, grab those bags and haul ass."

"Eh. I guess Teutonic Knights is good enough." Prussia picked up the last two bags and they headed off to Denmark's house.

…

_Stuck again, but wanting to write something. I put "tomato potato" into the anagram generator and got "A Potato Motto." So…Prussia gets to talk about having his own motto. _

_I couldn't actually come up with a good name or motto for him. Anybody got any ideas? I anagrammed "Prussia Teutonic Knights" and got "Paunchiest Kissing Tutor," but I'm 100% positive Prussia would not appreciate that as a slogan (and anyway, Romano's the kissing tutor in this universe). If I get a good suggestion, the next chapter will explore it, but if not, the next chapter will be the beginning of the Austrian meeting. Feel free to PM with suggestions, if you don't want to write a review._


	26. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 1

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 1**

The hotel bar was hopping. "This is amazing," Denmark laughed. "The meetings haven't even started yet! And everybody's half-sloshed."

It was true; many nations were in the bar; many nations were at least tipsy. It was the Saturday evening before the meetings were due to start.

"I don't get this. Dammit, why did everybody else get here early? I thought the three of us would at least have a little vacation time alone. Didn't know we'd have to deal with all these other morons." Romano scowled. At least the potato bastard wasn't in sight.

Prussia laughed as he looked around the bar. "Kesesese, who cares? Let's see if we can make somebody miserable."

"I'm sure _you_ can, Amenable Teutonic Potato, or whatever the fuck you decided on."

"Didn't decide yet. We can keep working on that."

"I bet we can come up with something by the end of the week," Denmark surmised.

"Not taking that bet, bastard. Come on, pick a table and let's sit."

"Over there! Look!" America and Austria were sitting at a table, heads close together, talking quietly, with drinks in front of them. "Come on, we have to go sit there and make a scene. I really can't understand this. They're _still _dating? Let's go awesomely intrude."

"Why not?" Denmark asked of no one in particular, and they headed over to claim some seats there.

"So, Austria," Prussia purred, sliding into the seat next to him. "How are you doing, my old friend?"

America looked a bit miffed at this intrusion, but Austria sniffed. "I'm perfectly fine, Prussia. And how are all of you?"

"We're working on it," Den replied, flagging down a waitress. "We need some drinks."

"Kesesese. We need some _memories_~."

"Drinks, bastard, drinks. I'm not going to spend _this_ whole week working on memories. That ship has sailed."

Prussia flapped his hand. "Whatever! Austria, my dear, is this hotel well-stocked? Will we have enough food to last the week?"

"What a ridiculous question. There will certainly be enough food. Supply trucks do run in this city, I'm sure you're aware." Austria paused. "I'm simply not sure how much _liquor _we'll require_, _at this rate," he pointed out, sniffing and gesturing to the roomful of buzzing nations. The waitress brought their drinks.

"Well, if we all drink all the booze tonight—"

"_High-quality liquor,_ kesesese—"

"—then at least you don't have to worry about everyone getting bombed the rest of the week." America beamed at them and put his arm around Austria.

This irritated Prussia and he flung an arm around the dark-haired nation as well, glancing apologetically at Den, who rolled his eyes and laughed. Romano gave Prussia a tiny little appreciative smirk.

"So, how long have you two been dating?" The albino managed to reach past Austria and poke America in the shoulder; the blond turned red. So did Austria.

"Since your party," America confessed quietly. "It was a great party. Austria looked so classy, and Japan was ignoring me, so…"

"I don't see how anyone could ignore _you_," Austria murmured quietly, turning to smile at him.

"Ack. Let's go find another table, bastards." The three friends hastily left the lovebirds behind.

"Too weird," Denmark agreed.

There were no empty tables at the moment. At a big corner table, Switzerland was sitting with Liechtenstein, who was staring dejectedly at the tabletop.

"Do you see Ice anywhere? Maybe she's sad because he's ignoring her? I wonder if that's still going on." The three of them stood scanning the crowded, noisy room, drinking their drinks, until they spotted Iceland, who was leaning against the wall some distance from Swissy's table, staring equally dismally at Liechtenstein. She didn't seem to realize he was there.

"Bet I know what happened," Prussia announced. "Swissy told him to blow. Not awesome! Come on, somewhere else we can interfere!"

"Bastard." But they both followed him.

"Hey, Ice! Come sit with us!" Denmark yelled, on their way to the table.

Iceland looked like he was going to say no, but when he saw where they were headed, he pushed himself off the wall and slouched over to them. "Denmark," he said pleasantly.

All four of them descended on the corner table, Prussia next to Swissy. "Hey, Switzerland," Denmark said. "Liechtenstein."

"Hello," the two nations replied sullenly, Liechtenstein not looking up.

The Skirmish Brothers carefully avoided the seat next to Liechtenstein. When Iceland saw this, he gave Denmark a surprised grin and slipped into that seat.

"Why are you two sitting all alone in the corner?" Prussia wondered. "We thought you looked a little down, so we're here to cheer you up."

"Thanks; that's nice of you." Switzerland sounded unconvinced. Romano waved to the waitress for another round of drinks.

Denmark was in between Romano and Iceland. "Hey, this table's too crowded," he said, nudging Romano. "Quit hogging all the space." He moved his chair closer to Iceland, as if to get away from Romano's elbow. Iceland, of course, moved away from Denmark's encroaching chair, ending up much closer to Liechtenstein than before.

"It's...so good to see you, Denmark," he said, smiling. "Thanks for calling me over."

Prussia and Denmark beamed at him and drank their drinks. Romano simply drank.

Some conversation happened. Switzerland was not in a chatty mood, but Prussia more than made up for it. "You know, this is really stupid," Romano realized after a while.

"What? How could the awesome me be doing anything stupid?"

"Listen, Teutonic potato. We should go out somewhere, not stick around in the fucking hotel bar, where we're going to be stuck all week if the meetings run late. Remember what happened in Seattle."

Prussia's eyes grew wide. "That is actually an excellent point, my Italian friend. You guys want to go out for dinner? We didn't eat yet." He magnanimously included Switzerland, Liechtenstein and Iceland in his invitation.

Iceland seemed to be waiting to see what Swissy and his little sister would do.

Liechtenstein also.

"Why not," Switzerland finally sighed. Everyone got up from the table.

"Get your coats! Meet in the lobby in ten minutes!" Prussia crowed, and they all split up for their gear.

…

"Wah, we are such awesome matchmakers," Prussia sighed later, in the elevator, after dinner and much drinking.

Romano, more cynical, doubted it. "Swissy isn't going to let it happen, you know. He – he was – he was kind of being all right with it since there were so many of us there, but if Iceland tries to – _hiccup_ – take Liechtenstein out on a date or something, he's toast." He grinned a little at this idea.

"It's not like he doesn't know what he's getting into. Ice is pretty savvy, and I bet he doesn't make any stupid moves that antagonize Swissy. He'll take his time." Denmark leaned against the wall of the elevator. "This elevator is really slow!" He pushed himself off the wall and stabbed at the button for their floor again.

Nothing happened.

"Oh, no, no, no, no, no, no, _no,_" Romano groaned. "Do not tell me I'm stuck in a fucking elevator with you two tonight! _Dammit!"_

"Normally, _normally_, I would torment you about this, Romano, my friend, but…I really have to pee." Prussia started squirming. "I don't want to be stuck in an elevator either."

"Shut up, bastard! Shut the fuck up! It's bad enough we're stuck in here but do not talk about that, dammit…please?" He turned a begging face to Prussia, who laughed and ruffled his hair. Romano tried to fix it.

"Yes, all right. Sorry." Prussia stabbed the button as Denmark had done.

No luck. "Damn you, Prussia." Denmark punched him.

"Hey, don't blame me, Den. I don't build the elevators around here. I'm going to have a serious talk with Austria later." Prussia sat on the floor with his legs stretched out and crossed tightly together.

"Bastard, that is not going to help us now." Romano sat on the floor too, tailor-fashion, leaning forward with his head in his hands. "Dammit."

"Yes. This is stupid." Denmark stayed standing, continuing to push the elevator button.

"Talk to me, you guys. Distract me, help me out." Prussia, wild-eyed, poked Romano with his foot.

Swat. "What the fuck do you want me to say, bastard? You're an idiot?"

"Why are you blaming me?"

"Cheh. You _are_ an idiot. You're just – just so easy to blame for everything."

"That's completely unfair, you know." Denmark nudged Romano with _his_ foot. "He didn't do anything."

"I know. Sorry," Romano grumbled. "Remind me to give Austria a piece of my mind. This really sucks."

"Do you have a piece to spare, Romano~?"

"Shut up, potato brain."

"Oh, yeah. We can talk about my motto while we're stuck!"

Luckily, the elevator began to move, and the three nations breathed a massive sigh of relief. "Maybe we should take the steps from now on. I don't want to risk getting stuck in here for real. It's too small." Denmark looked up; his hair nearly touched the ceiling.

"A very good point, bastard. In fact, push the fucking button; I'm going to get out and walk right now."

"Kesesese! Awesome idea." When the elevator stopped all three of them rushed out and found themselves on the floor below theirs. "Come on; stairs are this way."

Denmark clapped Romano on the shoulder as they headed for the stairwell. "You said England's not getting here until Monday morning?"

"Right. He said he'd try to get here tomorrow night, but…he didn't think it would happen."

"Poor Arthur. Such a hardworking – uh – wanker."

They laughed a little as they headed up the stairs. "Well, let's meet downstairs at seven? We can go out for breakfast?"

"Den, it's fucking one in the morning, and I'm drunk! I can't get up at seven, dammit!"

"You're miserable sometimes, Romano."

"I'll be even more miserable if you make me get up at seven. You and the albino potato go out to breakfast. Come get me around, oh, eleven? We can go do something after that. See if you can find something vacationy to do?" Romano beamed at Prussia, who recoiled.

"Ugh. You're scary when you smile like that. But – yeah, that sounds like an okay plan. Denmark and I will come get you at eleven."

Romano headed to his hotel room. "Right. See you tomorrow!"

Prussia and Denmark both blew him kisses. "Come on, cupcake, let's find our room."

"Kesesese!"

_"Shut the fuck up, bastards!_"

…

_I guess the Prussia Motto will just be an ongoing thing until inspiration strikes._


	27. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 2

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 2.**

"Dammit, I can't believe this. So much for our fucking year of awesome vacations. It's like these meetings are some kind of bad-luck charm."

"Yeah. First Seattle, and now this."

"You two! Calm down! I mean, I can see why Romano gets pissed off; he doesn't get a lot of snow in Italy, but Den, I'd think _you_ would be cool with this. You get a ton of snow." Prussia pursed his lips and peered out the hotel room window at the whitening Austrian landscape.

"That's the point. I get so much snow, I'm sick of it, and I hoped this vacation – which is in _April!_ – would be a nice, balmy time. Not more snow." Denmark flicked Prussia in the head, but the albino didn't respond.

"This sucks," Romano grumbled. He moved away from the window to sit on the bed. "Have you talked to Austria? Are they expecting it to be a fucking blizzard?"

Denmark stretched and turned away from the window. "Haven't seen him _or_ America. We went to breakfast and managed to walk around a little before things got too slippery, but really, we haven't seen anybody yet."

"Kesesese! They're probably hung over just like you." Prussia sat next to Romano and poked him. The brunet didn't react.

"Well, we might as well go get some lunch," Denmark decided. "Especially if there might be supply truck issues due to the snow."

"Yes!" Prussia jumped up, pulling Romano off the bed. "Don't want to get stuck without breakfast like last time."

"Idiot. You said you already had breakfast." Romano jerked his arm away from him.

"Breakfast, lunch, whatever. Let's go eat."

…

In the large hotel dining room, there were a few other nations listlessly picking at lunches. Nobody seemed too upset about the snow. The three friends sat and ordered, Romano doing his best to find a non-potato item on the menu. He ended up with tomato soup, which made him a little nervous, but when it arrived it was all right.

They also ate in relative silence. Then Prussia stood up and yelled, "Hey! Anybody seen Austria today?"

Lithuania, Canada, Japan and Turkey all shook their heads; Greece failed to awaken for the question.

"Let's go look for him," Denmark decided. "Not much else we can do, and he ought to know about this. Do you know what room he's in?"

"No. I do know he tends to stay on the top floor, though."

As they left the restaurant Turkey called out, "Hey, the elevator is broken!"

"Again?" Romano asked. "Thanks, bastard." They waved to the masked nation and left.

"Kesesese!" Prussia's eyes grew almost impossibly wide.

"What now, dammit?"

"I bet I know where Austria is!"

Denmark's eyes widened too. "In the elevator?"

"Ha ha, betcha, I bet he's stuck in the elevator with America!"

"Dammit, they'd better not be – be – dammit."

Both his friends started laughing at him. "Austria wouldn't do that in an elevator."

"Bet America would, though." Den got an evil look in his eye. "Let's go bang on the elevator doors and interrupt them."

"I'm telling you, you Nordic idiot, they won't be doing anything in there!" But Prussia and Romano followed Denmark to the elevator doors.

"Hey! Open up!" Prussia yelled, getting into the spirit of the thing. Denmark kicked the door a few times. Romano stood behind them, rolling his eyes, wondering how the hell he'd gotten roped into this.

Prussia put his ear to the door. "I don't hear anything."

"Cheh. Maybe the elevator is trapped on another floor."

"Oh! Right! Awesome, now we have to run up the steps to the next one, and the next one, and bang on _all_ of them. Come on." He grabbed Romano's hand again and they all ran up the stairs to the first floor, where Romano yanked his hand away from Prussia.

"Yoo-hoo," Denmark called out sweetly, tapping on the elevator door. "Are you in there, lovebirds?"

"Kesesese!" Prussia kicked the door. "No making out in the elevator!"

"Will you two focus?" Romano hissed. "We're supposed to be finding them so we can talk to Austria about the fucking snow!" He kicked the door, too, angry, and when Prussia put his ear to the door and announced that he couldn't hear anything, he kicked it again.

"Upstairs, my friends," Denmark laughed, and they trotted up another flight of steps.

"Helloooo?" Prussia banged on the door immediately and put his ear to the door. Latvia emerged from his hotel room, took one look at the three of them, and fled down the stairwell, which distracted all three of them and made them burst into laughter.

"Ah, bastards, why the hell are we looking for Austria anyway? Just let him and America do their thing. Come on."

"But there's nothing else to do, Romano! This hotel is even worse than the Seattle one. And if Austria was right – and all the booze is gone –"

"Dammit."

"Sourpuss." Prussia poked him again.

"Stop poking me, bastard. What if there's so much snow that England can't get here?"

Both his friends got very affectionate looks on their faces, but Romano didn't see. "Aw."

"Shut up, Teutonic fucking Albino. Forget I said anything."

Wisely, Denmark refrained from comment, but ruffled Romano's hair; he fixed it without looking up.

"Arthur will awesomely get here, my friend. He's no stranger to snow either."

"Maybe he'll use it as an excuse to skip the meeting." Denmark started laughing.

"Chigi! Shut up, both of you." Confused, Romano walked away and up the stairs by default; within a minute the other two followed. "Why the hell are you following me?"

"Don't be stupid, Romano. We still have to bang on the elevator door on the next floor. It's the last one, though, so if they don't answer, then I guess they're not really in there. Which would suck. I'd love to give poor Austria a lot of grief about this."

Before banging on the elevator door Denmark put his ear to it. "I think I hear something," he whispered.

All three of them crowded to the door to try and listen. A hushed silence fell.

_"What are you doing to the elevator?"_ Austria yelled, behind them. They all jumped and turned to see the host nation standing with Switzerland in the hallway.

"Uh – uh – " Romano couldn't think of anything to say.

Luckily, this was never a problem for Prussia. "You're not in the elevator!" he announced, while Denmark stood sheepishly grinning at the new arrivals.

"You know, Prussia, I have always admired your grasp of the obvious." Austria's sneering tone was dripping with sarcasm. "What exactly are you three up to?"

"The elevator is broken, kesesese!"

"I _know _that_._"

"And we thought you were in it."

"With America," Denmark added, waggling his eyebrows for good measure.

Romano simply stood in silence, his face burning. He felt like an idiot.

"America is not feeling well. He is sleeping off his hangover."

"Kesesese!"

But Austria was not finished speaking. "If you thought we were in the elevator, why exactly were you listening at the – _Prussia!_" Austria grabbed him, but the albino was doubled over in laughter. "You have the filthiest mind of any nation, ever."

"You got that right," Romano muttered.

"All three of you!" Austria then hollered at them, making Romano jump and then blush again.

Denmark started laughing. "Ah, get over it," he suggested to Austria. "But the elevator does need to be fixed."

"I do know. It should have been fixed by now. Switzerland and I were coming out to test it."

"Oh! We didn't even think of that. Push the button, Romano," Prussia directed, since Romano was closest to the panel.

Romano obediently pushed the button. The five nations stood back as the elevator doors slid open…

…revealing a disheveled Iceland and Liechtenstein, the former of whom was grinning a near-Prussia-quality grin, and the latter of whom was staring at the floor, face redder than even Romano's, but with a tiny, tiny smile on her face.

"Sorry, wrong elevator," Denmark yelped, grabbing both his friends by the arms and running down the stairway.

…

_Will Iceland live through this? Stay tuned._


	28. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 3

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 3.**

Halfway down the stairs the three friends heard a shot.

"No! This is unawesome. We can't leave poor Iceland up there alone. Come on." Prussia turned on the stairs and started to run back up.

"Wait, wait!" Denmark yelled, following him.

But Romano continued downstairs at a high rate of speed.

When he reached the bottom, he stopped to think about his brave friends, running into a skirmish, and reluctantly decided to go back up. He was also burning with curiosity. Had Swissy actually shot Iceland? What would happen if he had? Romano went very slowly upstairs, half his mind trying to talk him into turning around and running back downstairs, but he braved it out.

Eventually he reached the top floor. He very nervously peeked out the tiny window in the stairwell door, to see that an irate Switzerland had shot not Iceland, but the elevator button panel. He still had the pistol in his hand, although it was hanging limply at his side as Liechtenstein explained something to him. Prussia, Denmark and Austria had retreated discreetly down the hallway, but were keeping an eye on the brother and sister. Iceland stood to the side.

Romano took a hesitant step out of the stairwell. What if his movement caught Swissy's eye? What if – no, he had to man up. His friends wouldn't let anything bad happen to him. He stepped into the scene.

Nobody but Prussia reacted, and all he did was raise his eyebrows and smile brightly across the room. Romano wasn't near enough to hear what Liechtenstein was saying, but now Switzerland was holstering his gun. Iceland kept smiling, although he didn't look quite as manic as he had when the elevator doors had opened.

In another minute, Liechtenstein met her brother's eyes. He gave a curt nod and she walked over to stand with Iceland, who directed his smile towards Switzerland. The Alpine nation ignored this and began to walk haughtily towards his friend Austria, and then suddenly spun, drawing his pistol again, and shot the elevator doors in anger.

"Switzerland!" Austria yelled, running to grab his arm. "Stop shooting up my hotel!" Iceland and Liechtenstein pushed past Romano and fled down the steps.

Switzerland took a deep breath. "Excuse me. I think I need to be alone for a while." He stalked off, presumably to his hotel room, but Austria ran after him, leaving the three friends alone in the hallway.

"Well, this sucks," Denmark said cheerfully. "Just as they get the elevator fixed, Swissy destroys it." He clapped Prussia on the back. "Not a real problem, though. We can all use the exercise, and now that we know it's broken, we know there won't be any – any –"

"Shenanigans?" Prussia laughed.

"Yeah, shenanigans going on in the elevator," Den finished. "You won't have to spend all your free time peeking to see who's in there. Come on, you two. Let's go out and play in the snow."

"Lot of drama considering the meetings haven't even started yet," Romano tried to say nonchalantly.

Both Prussia and Denmark grinned and hugged him, and the brunet allowed it. "Kesesese! You were so brave, Romano. I'm proud of you. It was awesome."

"Cheh. Shut up. Come on." He grabbed them by the wrists, fighting a smile, and pulled them into the stairwell.

At the ground floor Liechtenstein and Iceland were waiting inside the door. "Thank you," the girl said. "It was nice of you to try to stop my Bruder's anger."

"No problem." Denmark shook his head. "Nobody likes to get shot. Come on, we're all going to play in the snow."

But when they all got outside there was no more snow. "What the hell?" Prussia scratched his head.

"It all melted," they heard behind them. Greece was moping, staring out at the wet and snowless landscape dejectedly. "It's such a shame. I love the snow." He turned and slouched back into the hotel.

"Well, at least now we don't have to worry about being cooped up all day. Let's go, my awesome brothers, and see what there is to do in Salzburg."

"Something that doesn't involve drinking," Romano demanded. Denmark ruffled his hair.

As they walked away, they heard Liechtenstein ask her friend, "Denmark and Romano are Prussia's _brothers_?"

"I have no idea," Iceland replied.

…

After an exhausting day sightseeing outside the city – because they were saving city sights for meeting nights, when they wouldn't have a lot of time – and a delicious, not-too-potatoey dinner, Romano decided to head to bed. It was already dark out, and he was still a little crabby from yesterday's hangover.

Prussia and Denmark walked to his door with him. "Cool day, guys. Thanks," Prussia grinned. "And nobody got shot!"

"That was the best part, bastard. Right, well, I'll see you at the meetings tomorrow."

"Arthur's getting here tomorrow sometime?"

"Cheh, yes, he said he'd get here before the meetings started, but I have no idea when."

"Whatever. We'll see you at breakfast, probably." Denmark hugged him and walked off with Prussia.

Romano was so tired he didn't even turn the lights on. He walked into the room, kicked off his shoes, dropped his coat, and collapsed on the bed.

"Aah!" someone yelled.

"What the fuck?" Romano, now fully awake, leaped off the bed and fumbled for the light switch. Had he come into the wrong room?

When his night vision cleared, he looked at the bed and scowled. "Bastard, what the hell are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, git. I had the chance for an early flight so I took it. Thought maybe you'd be happy to see me, but…apparently not. Wanker." England rolled over and pushed his face into the pillow.

Romano flipped the switch and stood until his vision settled down again. "Don't be stupid. I would have been a lot happier if I hadn't discovered you by landing on top of you. You nearly gave me a fucking heart attack."

"Grow up. Are you drunk?"

"No! I'm just exhausted." Romano sat on the bed. "It's been a rough day." Here he explained about the previous night's drinking, and the elevator dramas.

"Aw. Poor baby. Come closer and let big strong England give you a hug."

Romano smirked in the dark. "You sound like an idiot when you talk like that." But he did come closer, and let England give him a hug.

…


	29. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 4

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 4.**

When Prussia and Denmark came into the meeting room and looked around, the only other nations present were a groaning America, who ignored them, and a sleeping Greece. The two friends grabbed some coffee and napkins from the laden sideboard and searched for their places at the main conference table.

"Here's yours, Prussia. Oh, good. Austria put me right next to you. What a sweetie."

"Kesesese. Where's Romano? Next to you?" Prussia was nearer the high end of the table. "West is next to me." He checked the card on the other side of Germany's. "No surprise, Veneziano is next to West, at the head of the table."

Denmark checked the card. "France is next to me."

"That's cool. Wonder where Romano's sitting?"

They sat and Prussia noticed a little gift-wrapped package at his seat. "What the hell? Den, did you get me a present?"

"No." He picked it up and shook it. "Huh. Doesn't make any noise."

"Should I open it? What if it's some embarrassing gag gift?" Prussia looked very concerned. "Or something dangerous?"

"In that case it would be better to open it now, before everyone else gets here." Denmark sipped some coffee. "Hey, America, did you see who put this package here?"

"Nh, no," the blond groaned, head in hands.

"What's the matter with _you_?"

"I drank too much last night. I should have known dating Austria was a bad move."

He _was _sitting far away from Austria's seat. Prussia and Denmark locked eyes and raised their eyebrows, but before they could ask him anything else, people began filtering into the room. "Wonder what happened," the albino whispered.

"Beats me. Open the present. I'll check to see who's watching. Then we can figure out who gave it to you."

Prussia began unwrapping the package. Denmark watched the still-nervous Latvia, then Switzerland and Liechtenstein, walk into the room; beyond them he could see Romano's hair curl and a shock of blond that was presumably England. He didn't bother pointing them out to Prussia, who was eagerly ripping off the last pieces of wrapping paper.

England and Romano entered the room just as he finished unwrapping it. "Wah! _Romano!_ Romano, I love you!" he crowed, jumping out of his chair, crawling over the conference table towards his friend, knocking over place cards and coffee cups in his haste.

Romano spun and pelted out of the room, yelling "Chigi!" as he ran. All the other nations stood and stared at the doorway as Prussia chased him away.

"What the fuck?" Denmark, mopping up spilled coffee, asked the bewildered England.

"Don't ask me. I've no bloody idea. How are you?"

"Yeah, we're fine – I think. Depends what happens when those two come back in the room."

"Want some more coffee? I'm going to get some tea."

"Yes, please." Denmark handed over his mug and England headed to the side table, lining up behind other hungry nations, fetching a cup of coffee for Romano while he was at it.

By the time he got back with the three drinks and some more napkins, both Prussia (cackling joyously) and Romano (snarling at the ground) had re-entered the room. Romano was flushed and his hair disheveled, but Prussia appeared as pristine as if he'd just stepped out of a bandbox, with one arm wrapped around his friend's shoulders.

"What the hell are you two doing?" Denmark grumbled, drinking the new coffee.

Romano slipped into a chair next to England, still not meeting anyone's eyes, and Prussia bounded over to sit next to Denmark, flourishing something. "It's the _Colosseum spoon_! Romano got it for me! And it's another rare sterling silver one, too. I do love you, Romano, and now I know you really do love me." He sighed with a starry-eyed expression on his face, blowing a kiss to his intensely-embarrassed friend.

"Shut the fuck up about it, bastard, or I'll never do anything nice for you ever again."

"Kesesese."

England silently pushed the coffee mug towards Romano. "Thanks." He drank all the coffee without looking up. "This coffee sucks…get me some more." He pushed the cup back towards England, who sighed and went back to the coffee urn for him.

Denmark poked Romano across the table. "Looks like this is going to be another thrilling meeting. Full of drama."

Nobody answered him; England returned with the new coffee, which Romano sipped more leisurely. Soon Austria came into the room, reminding Denmark of America's strange comment earlier. "Uh," he whispered, beckoning them closer.

The other three leaned forward to catch his whispered commentary. "Something's wrong between Austria and America. But we don't know what. America said dating Austria was a bad idea."

"Let's figure out why," Prussia laughed, kissing his spoon before buttoning it into his jacket pocket; Romano rolled his eyes at that. "Something to do when the meeting gets boring."

"Attention, everyone!" Austria called out. "Please finish getting breakfast and sit down; we'd like to keep the meeting on target today."

A chorus of halfhearted murmurs acknowledged this. Nations sat with coffee, or plates of food, and Austria began the meeting.

…

The end of the day brought the usual bickering to an end. Prussia was the only nation in the room who seemed serene; even the happy-go-lucky Veneziano had yelled at Austria a few times, despite Germany's attempts to quiet him. America had continued to sulk all day, and despite their best efforts, the four friends (who'd actually spent more time working this out than focusing on the meeting) had not been able to guess what might have gone wrong between him and Austria.

But Austria didn't seem disturbed at all. In fact, England had pointed out in a whisper over catered lunch, he seemed perkier than usual. This was confusing. They made a pact to keep watching and report any unusual behavior.

"Well, are we doing anything, gits? Dinner, I guess."

"Dinner and drinking, Arthur. Don't forget the drinking."

"Wanker."

"Yeah, yeah, bastards, shut up and let's go." Romano grabbed England's arm and dragged him out of the meeting room. "We _are_ going out somewhere, right? Not eating in the fucking hotel dining room?"

"Look, it's not really a vacation if we sit around the hotel the whole time. Let's go look for someplace." Denmark looked around the hallway, and then quickly whispered, "You three go outside. I'll meet you out there in a few minutes."

They all gave him funny looks, but he shooed them out the door, so they left. Through the double doors he could see Austria fidgeting with a little smile on his face. Denmark waited to see what was pleasing him so much.

Then Switzerland walked up to the host nation and smiled beautifully at him; Austria leaned forward and kissed Swissy on the cheek. Damn! Denmark nearly yelled. So those two were on again, and America was out in the cold? He hurried outside before bursting into laughter.

"Well? What is it, dammit? What are you laughing about?" Romano punched him.

Denmark glanced around the area and saw America standing dejectedly by the taxi stand. "Tell you at dinner," he hissed, grabbing Prussia's hand. "Come on, let's move."

…

"I love Austrian food," Prussia sighed, sniffing the scented restaurant air. "So come on, Den, tell us what's going on. Something about America, right?"

Denmark nodded. "Yes. Well, Austria was practically beaming when the meeting broke up, and America wasn't, so I thought something funny might be going on. And so I stuck around to watch, and…you'll never guess what happened. Never, never, never, in a million years."

"Swissy and Austria are back together," Prussia and England chorused, and then broke into laughter.

Denmark's jaw dropped. "How the hell did you guess?"

Romano snorted. "Even I could have guessed that one, bastard. After all that elevator drama? Swissy was so mad, and Austria comforted him. Right?"

"Right," Prussia agreed. "Swissy and Austria will never seriously get involved with anybody else. They're too attached to each other."

"Aw." England got a fond little smile on his face and stared into the distance.

"Well, that sucks," Denmark pouted. "I really thought I had some interesting news for you."

The albino patted him on the shoulder. "Eh, you did a good job, Den. Nice detective work. Calm down and eat, have a beer, whatever."

"Yeah. Beer." He reached for his drink, and drank. "It's a good thing we had America's problems to distract us all day. Meetings are always so boring."

"It's not like we were actually paying attention to the fucking meeting, idiot." Romano turned to Prussia. "Why don't we skip the meeting tomorrow and go sightseeing?"

Prussia frowned at the same time that England backhanded Romano. "Not awesome, my friend. What about poor Denmark, and Arthur? They'll be stuck in the meetings all day!"

"Git," England agreed.

"Ah, you know what I mean, you all do. These meetings suck."

"Stop coming to them," Denmark suggested, finishing his beer.

"Maybe I will."

England snorted. "Might be better that way. At least then we wouldn't have to listen to you bitch all the time."

"Idiot. I'm a man. I don't bitch."

"Kesesese! You totally bitch all the time, Romano." Prussia nodded. "But I can deal with it because of my awesome new spoon." He blew Romano a kiss again; the half-nation turned red and scowled.

"Just shut up, Amenable Potato."

"Will you stop with that? I told you, no food stuff!" Prussia poked him and then swiped a bread roll off Romano's plate.

"Cheh. How the hell can I remember? You keep changing things."

"Any of you wankers going to tell me what you're talking about?" England finished his beer and motioned the waiter over. "Some bloody bet? Do I even want to know?"

"Trying to come up with another new name for Prussia," Denmark laughed. "Apparently neither Prussia, Teutonic Knights, Lucy, or Gilbert is good enough for him."

"The Albino Wanker."

Romano laughed. "Good one. What are your fucking rules about it, again? No food stuff and what else?"

"Nothing people will confuse with West! Remember? And nothing with 'boy.'"

"What does that mean?" England looked confused.

"Ha ha. Well, Romano was calling him things like Stupid Boy and Potato Boy. So Prussia said nothing with 'boy.'" Denmark ordered more beer for them.

"Albino Wanker still fits."

"Forget it, Arthur. And I also need a motto."

"You. Need. A. Motto." England stared at his friend. "A motto for what?"

"To go with my new name! A superhero motto."

Romano groaned. "Look…figure it out on your own time. This discussion always makes my head hurt."

"Party poopers."

"Look, Teutonic Knights, forget about the motto. Let's talk about sightseeing, or whatever else we're going to do on this mini-vacation." Denmark finished his beer and waved for another one.

Romano tried the food; it was pretty good. "I did some work before we got here," he admitted. "A lot of the city stuff closes around six, so we can't do that until the weekend."

"Don't forget I'm not sticking around this weekend," England reminded them.

"Cheh, yes, we know, _wanker_," Romano said, making his friends laugh. "So my point was that we should look for things open late during the week."

"There's a casino. Open 'til three in the morning." Prussia busied himself eating Sauerbraten and missed the excited looks on the faces of the other three.

"Yes!" Denmark yelled.

"No. Albino Man doesn't have any money."

"I'm almost willing to give the git some money if we can go to a casino." England pulled his wallet out.

"Put your money away, Arthur. West awesomely gave me a lot of money for this trip, because he knows I love Salzburg and he didn't want me to embarrass him in front of you guys by being cheap."

Denmark seemed nervous. "So you're going to gamble away all the money Germany gave you?"

"You really are a party pooper, Den. I'm going to _win_ a lot of money with the money he gave me! I'm going to make enough winnings that I'll have a ton of money for the summer vacation. This casino trip is like work, for me." Prussia beamed at all his friends. "So we're going?"

"We're going," Denmark and England chorused. "Eat," Denmark went on. "Hurry up."

"Kesesese!"

…


	30. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 5

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 5. **

"I love gambling," Romano said, dragging England into the casino.

"We know."

"Come on, I need a drink, I want to play blackjack!" Prussia yelled. "I need to win all this money. I'm going to win enough to pay West back all the money he gave me."

"What, _ever_?" Denmark didn't seem convinced by this.

"Not all the money ever, no. Just what he gave me for this trip."

"Listen, gits, we can't play blackjack together."

"What? Why not?" Prussia pouted.

"Because if you _are_ going to win all this money, Gilbert, I don't want you to win by beating me. Play against some unsuspecting Austrian tourists."

"Oh. Yeah."

"Yeah, but you always win against Prussia at other stuff," Den pointed out. "Maybe you'll win all his money off him?"

"Right, and then I'll have to listen to him whinge about it all night, and then I'll end up giving it all back to him so Germany doesn't get steamed."

"Good point. Hey, we need to make a bet." Denmark clapped both Prussia and Romano on the shoulders.

"Dammit. We're in a casino, Den. Betting is all we're going to do."

"No, with each other, I mean. This is an easy one. Whoever wins the most money gambling tonight wins the bet."

"Cheh, fine. All right with you, albino potato?"

"Kesesese! Yes, because you all know it's going to be me. I'll take that bet. Arthur?"

"Nope. Not getting involved in your silly bets tonight. Er – well – what does the winner get?"

The friends all sought for a suitable prize.

"Winner gets to choose where we go for our next vacation?" Prussia suggested.

"What the bloody hell are you talking about? You mean besides LA and your cruise? How many more vacations are you gits taking?"

"Uh. Forgot about the cruise. All right, forget that prize."

"Make it an easy one. Winner gets to choose what we do tomorrow night." Denmark shrugged.

"No way, bastard. If Spoon Man wins, we'll just end up back here again all week. Losers each give the winner a thousand Euros."

"No _way!_ Romano, if I win all this money, I've got to give it to West, and I also intend to get you a little something for your sweet gesture about the Colosseum spoon." Prussia tickled him under the chin, and Romano smacked his hand away. "Damn it, I can't think of anything."

"Winner gets a t-shirt," England laughed, pointing to the casino's gift shop.

"Lame!" the other three yelled. Romano poked him for good measure.

"Look, let's go sit at the bar while we talk about it. I feel like an idiot standing around in the middle of the casino." Denmark pushed Prussia and England towards the bar.

"Yeah, fine." Romano trudged along behind them.

After they'd been seated with drinks, Prussia said, "There's a spa in town. Winner gets a trip to the spa?"

"Bastard, you can't be serious. I looked up that spa online last week, because I thought we might like to go there. There's fucking radon in the hot springs, and they advertise it as _healthy_!"

"You're joking." England looked appalled, and absently knocked back his Scotch.

"Not joking at all. Austria needs to get his head into the 21st century, dammit."

"What's the matter with radon?" Prussia asked.

"It's radioactive, potato brain." Denmark punched his boyfriend's shoulder. "It'll mutate you. They really advertise that it has radon?" he asked Romano.

"Yes, bastard, yes; go look it up online if you don't believe me. They even have a special spa package for expectant mothers."

"Wankers."

"And stop calling me Potato Brain, Den," Prussia pouted. "Well, what are we going to do about the bet? If we can't do the spa?" He finished his beer.

Denmark tugged at his own hair. "I don't know." He drank his drink. "Winner gets to choose the hotel for LA?"

"Dammit, I thought we already picked a place?"

"We did, we awesomely did; don't worry, that's not a good prize," Prussia reassured him. "How about winner gets to pick where we go for dinner tomorrow. Just dinner. That way even if I win we're not automatically forced into coming back here."

"Eh, that's good enough, I guess," Denmark said, finishing his drink. "And losers have to buy that dinner. All right with you, Romano?"

"All right with me, bastards." The three of them shook hands solemnly.

Romano stood. "Right. I'm going to start at the slot machines."

"Eh. Mind if I go off somewhere else? I hate the slots." England fidgeted a little.

"Go where you want, idiot. Just don't come crying to me if you run out of money." Romano patted his cheek with a snort and wandered off.

England stared after him in irritation. "Git." He stretched. "I'm going to check out the roulette table. All right? See you wankers later!" He headed in that direction.

"Going to play blackjack with me, Den?" Prussia beamed at him, batting his eyelashes. "Come on, cutie, come and play cards with the awesome me."

"I think England had a good point. I don't want you beating me at blackjack all night. I'll play, but at a different table."

"Fine. Come on."

…

England found a roulette table that wasn't too crowded. He decided to watch for a while, see if he could get a feel for how the wheel was trending tonight. There were only six people plus the croupier standing around the table; four of them were elegant swells in evening dress. The other two were elderly, dressed in matching track suits; they looked about eighty. The man had a walker and was stooped over it, peering at the roulette wheel nearsightedly, and the lady, leaning on a fancy titanium cane, shouted and shook a palsied fist at the wheel every time the ball settled.

The island nation slipped into the space between the old lady and a middle-aged man in a tuxedo who also looked quite intent on the play. England didn't bet at first, just watched the croupier launch the ball. "Fifteen," he murmured to himself, just making a personal bet. The middle-aged man and the old lady started yelling at the wheel, which – to England's amazement – did, in fact, land on fifteen. He grinned and awarded himself a mental pat on the back.

"Ten on red," the lady barked, flinging a chip onto the table.

The man next to England turned and scowled at her. "Ten on _black,_" he said haughtily.

The croupier spun the wheel. "Twenty-three," England murmured again. He must have spoken louder this time; the old lady flicked her gaze to him, but then quickly turned back to watch the wheel.

"Twenty-three," the croupier announced when the ball had come to rest on that black space. The middle-aged man smirked at the old lady, who gave him the kind of nasty look that only an irritated old lady can give.

Bets were placed and the wheel spun. "Thirteen," England breathed. Just to see if he could do it again.

"Thirteen!" the croupier announced.

"You should bet, Jüngling," the old lady told him. "I heard you get both of those right."

"Eh. I've got to watch the play a little more before I start betting." He smiled at her. "But thank you."

"Tell me what number to bet on," she wheezed.

He felt flustered. He'd just been pulling numbers out of his head as the wheel turned. "Er – seventeen?"

"Ten on seventeen!"

The wheel spun and, amazingly, the ball landed on seventeen. "You're a marvel!" The lady collected her winnings. "Going to play now?"

"Y-yes, I think I might," England answered with a smile. Why not? He seemed to be on a streak tonight.

"Then we're leaving. Come on, Hans," she said to the man with the walker. They moved off with their winnings. The surly man next to England hissed "Good riddance!" at their retreating backs. The blond wondered why. Maybe she'd won a lot, whereas this chap had been losing.

The croupier called for bets. England thought about this. He had a good feeling about thirty-two, so he bet a hundred Euros on it. A tiny part of his mind said "The law of averages is against you," but he ignored it and promptly lost a hundred Euros.

"_What?_" He stared at the table.

"What do you mean, _what_?" the middle-aged man sneered. "Betting a hundred Euros is stupid."

England determined to make his money back and drew up a stool to sit for some long-term play.

…

Denmark settled in at a blackjack table. The crowd at this table didn't look too fearsome. There was about a fifty-fifty mix of old clients in sporty casualwear and middle-aged players in evening dress. He supposed there were better things for the younger crowd to do in Salzburg. He'd ask Prussia or Romano to look some things up online.

Here he spent a moment thinking appreciatively about how good Romano was with research, compared to the absent-minded Prussia. This reminded him of the radon and he snorted. Someone would really have to tell Austria about that tomorrow. If he was still in a good mood about Swissy, it shouldn't be too dangerous to point it out.

The game started. To Denmark's left was a very old lady with a portable oxygen tank and a walker. Well…_she_ ought to be easy to beat. Denmark looked at the cards he'd been dealt and played.

Within two minutes he'd lost. The old lady cackled at him, but she had to stop periodically and draw oxygen in. "You're adorable," she told him, "but you can't play for beans! Ha ha!"

"Want to bet?" He gave her his most charming smile. "I'll make a little side bet with you. Twenty Euros says I beat your hand this time."

"Done!"

Denmark lost the game and the twenty Euros. The lady patted him on the arm and batted her eyelashes at him. "Don't worry about it, sweetie. Keep your Euros. I'm just excited to be sitting next to such a big, strong, handsome man tonight."

He raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but because he was polite, he smiled down at her. The dealer dealt the cards; a waiter came around with a tray of drinks, and he took one and drank it.

This time Denmark won a modest sum, though it wasn't a net gain. "Ha!" the lady said. "I must be your good luck charm." She put a hand on his arm and shifted her chair closer to his.

"Uh," he said, shifting his chair further in the opposite direction. He looked wildly around for one of his friends – he did _not_ want to be cozying up to a dotty senior citizen all night! But…he also didn't want to leave the table until he'd at least made back what he'd lost so far. Including the twenty Euros he'd bet with the lady, even though he hadn't had to pay it out. It was a matter of principle.

When he won the next hand, the lady introduced herself. "I'm Walburga," she cooed, turning to face him. A waiter offered her a drink, and she took it; Denmark took another one also. Hell, he'd need it if this old lady kept flirting with him! He drank it very fast and put the empty glass back on the waiter's tray, turning back to focus on the game.

_"Scheisse!"_ Denmark looked up at this shout of Prussia's and saw him at another blackjack table, scrubbing his hands through his white hair. Heh. Denmark was going to win their bet.

…

After Prussia shouted, he sat down at the table again. He wasn't even looking at anyone. The other players at the table, and even the dealer, had commented on how albinos supposedly brought good luck. Apparently this was true...everyone else at his table had had very good luck. But Prussia had steadily lost every hand.

But he was not, absolutely _not_ going to quit, not now, no way. He had to win back the money! He had to win the bet with Den and Romano, and he also had to win a lot of money to pay West back. Damn it.

"Three cards, please," he told the dealer, and lost.

After five more games he'd lost more than half his vacation money. Scheisse! West would _kill him. _Well, he'd go see how his friends were doing, and then he'd try to make some money back at the slots. If he could make it back to where he'd started, that would be a sign that he ought to go back and play some more blackjack. Maybe at a different table. Probably this was a bad-luck table.

Prussia stood at his blackjack table and scanned the room for either Den or Romano. Oh, that's right; Romano was at the slot machines; he wouldn't be easy to spot, because those machines were so big. Den – ah, there he was. Prussia watched him canoodling with a shriveled old specimen and decided not to go over there at all, though he did wonder just what the hell Denmark was thinking. Prussia then saw Arthur punching the roulette table angrily. He decided to walk over and see how his blond friend was doing with roulette. Maybe he could borrow some money, too.

"Kesesese! How are you doing, Arthur? Winning a lot of money?"

"Bloody hell, I just don't understand it. I'm guessing all the numbers right – when I don't place a bet! When I bet, I lose."

"That's awesome."

"Wanker."

"No, I meant…don't bet. Tell me what to bet. I need to win some money."

"What, so you can win that bet with Den and Romano? Are you _mental_? You know Romano will disembowel me if he finds out I helped you beat him in a bet."

"Please, Arthur?" Gilbert turned big, pleading crimson eyes on his friend. "I've lost so much money!"

"You're joking. I thought you were going to be some big shot winner tonight?"

"I was. I am! But I need to win back some money first."

Arthur sighed. "All right. Just once." He stepped back to make room for Gilbert at the table. "Bet on twenty-six." He refrained from betting.

Gilbert bet a mere five Euros on twenty-six. Just in case Arthur had been teasing him about guessing right.

"Twenty-six!" the croupier called, paying out Gilbert's winnings.

"You are totally awesome, Arthur. I'll even let you be Lucy tonight if you want."

"Shut it, git. You sound like you're talking about some kinky sex play."

"Kesesese! What should I bet on now?"

Arthur closed his eyes and thought. "Ten."

Again cautious, Gilbert bet only five Euros. And won.

"Arthur, I love you. I'm going to do a big fat bet this time, get all my money back that I lost, and then go play some more blackjack so I can win the money for West."

"Don't do it, Gilbert. I haven't been a hundred percent right, tonight. The law of averages is against you."

"Pfft. Not this time. What's the number?"

Arthur concentrated. "One."

"A hundred Euros on the awesome number one," Gilbert announced.

"A hundred Euros? Oh, Gilbert, that's bad luck, that is exactly how much I lost on my first bet," Arthur moaned, and Gilbert lost his hundred Euros.

"Damn it, Arthur! I hate you!" Gilbert smacked him in the skull and ran off, practically in tears.

Arthur sighed, rubbing his sore forehead. When he placed a five-Euro bet on the number one, he won.

…

One of the things Romano hated most about casinos was the entertainment. He'd been to casinos that had live shows, dancing girls, comedians, hip-hop artists and strobe lights flashing everywhere while Elvis and Marilyn impersonators strolled the floor, chatting up the customers. He _hated_ that shit. Luckily, this Austrian casino was kind of elegant, and didn't seem to have any of that flashy garbage going on. Even the music was elegant. Mozart, probably. Everything in Salzburg seemed to be all about Mozart. Well, it could be worse. It could be fucking _Beethoven._

He'd settled in at a slot machine, winning and losing modest amounts for a while. The circulating waiters kept him continually supplied with tomato juice – he didn't want to get bombed and lose all his money by being drunk and distracted, dammit. After a little while longer, he settled into a fairly serious streak of losing, and he was getting worried. Maybe he should change to a different machine, for better luck? Probably this was a bad-luck machine. His head was starting to hurt and he wanted a drink.

Romano waved a waiter over and requested a Bloody Mary. When the man had headed to the bar, the Italian looked around to find a better machine and saw Conan the Barbarian walking around the room. "Fucking celebrity impersonators," he growled.

"Excuse me?" the Schwarzenegger said in astonishment. "Do you have a problem with me?" He loomed over Romano at the slot machine.

"Yeah, bastard, I have a problem with you. I have a problem with anybody who thinks it's at all sane to dress up like somebody else for a living."

"You little pipsqueak!" The impersonator cracked his knuckles. Romano did indeed appear weak next to the beefy fake Arnold, but he didn't give a damn. He was getting crabby and wanted to go find England, but this impersonator was pissing him off.

"Call me what you like, bastard. I can't help it I think your job is fucking lame." The waiter came back and gave him his drink; he drank it all at once. Ah, that was good. He asked for another.

"So what kind of a job do you think would be better, eh, little Italian pipsqueak?"

"Anything, you idiot!" Romano turned back to his losing-streak machine and put a token in, just for something to do while he argued with this stupid bastard. "Go clean toilets for a living."

"You're an Arschloch," the man snarled.

"Fucking potato bastard." Romano couldn't believe it. Even here in the middle of a crowded casino, potato bastards were able to find him and pester him. He'd bet nobody was pestering his friends this way.

"What did you call me?" the man yelled, his accent almost totally gone. He actually sounded more French than Austrian or German.

"You heard me, fucking barbarian." Romano finally remembered to stop the machine and lost. "Dammit."

"Serves you right," the man snickered, leaning on the slot machine to watch.

"Go away." Romano had another drink. The impersonator looked like he wanted to snatch a drink from the tray too, but he didn't.

"I can't go away, mister; this is my job, remember?"

"Go pester some old ladies or something, bastard. I'm busy." Romano put another token in. The faux Schwarzenegger watched as he pretended to calculate the best time to hit the stop button.

Just as he was about to press the button the impersonator said "Hey!" Romano missed the button and poked the side of the machine instead.

"Dammit! Can't you leave me alone?" He punched the button arbitrarily and won; a huge flood of tokens came sliding out of the machine all over the floor just as Prussia rounded the corner.

"Kesesese! Romano, you won so much money! That's great. Here, let me help you." Prussia absently shoved Conan out of the way; that man shrugged and went back to flexing his muscles and pacing the floor. Romano and Prussia scrambled to put all the winnings into a plastic bucket.

"Why are you over here? Win all your money yet?" Romano laughed; he was in a much better mood now that he'd won all this money and the stupid impersonator had gone away.

"Don't even talk to me about it. Arthur made me lose a hundred Euros!"

"What? How?"

Prussia explained.

Romano laughed. "It's your own fault, potato brain. You should know that kind of thing never works out in the long run." They got the last few tokens into the bucket. "Come on, let's go cash these in." They walked over to the cashier with the bucket.

"Uh…Romano…my so-awesome friend…"

"You want me to give you some money."

"Uh." Prussia flashed him a grin. "Yeah."

"Stupid. I tell you what, though; if you're still in the hole at the end of the night, I can probably spare fifty Euros from these winnings." The cashier handed Romano his money.

"Fifty? _Fifty?_ Romano, you just won eight hundred Euros! Why would you only give me fifty?" Prussia whined.

"Idiotic potato. Because I lost almost five hundred Euros in the fucking machine before I won this! I have to take home _some_ winnings, you know. Fifty Euros. Take it or leave it."

"Huh. I'll take it. Thanks."

"Guess you won't be doing any nice spoon-related paybacks, will you?" Romano shook his head.

"Aw. You know I want to."

"I know you want to, Amenable Loser. But come on, let's go find Den. I'm sick of gambling and that stupid French Schwarzenegger was a real jackass."

Before they found Denmark, England slouched over to them, hands in pockets. "Let me guess, Arthur, you lost all your money too?"

"Eh," was England's weak response. He pulled a slip of paper out of his pocket and flapped it at them. "Won a little bit back at the end."

"Romano awesomely won eight hundred Euros at the slots," Prussia announced.

"Eh. Good for you, git."

"Bastard, just how much money did you lose? You're acting like it's your grandmother's funeral!"

"I don't want to talk about it. I need a drink, or I need to get out of here."

"Go get us some drinks. We'll go find Den."

"Righto." England moved off towards the bar, first stopping at the cashier to cash in his ticket.

Prussia and Romano looked around. "Hey, bastard, I need the men's room first. I'll meet you back here."

"No, that's a really good idea. I'll come with you."

Romano narrowed his eyes. They walked into the men's room together.

When they came out, Prussia was beaming, Romano rolling his eyes. England stood before them with a tray of drinks: a beer, a Scotch, and a Bloody Mary. "What the hell are you – oh. You finally saw Romano's underwear?"

"Well, no," Prussia admitted. "But he promised to show me later, kesesese."

"You two are really a couple of first-class wankers. Come on, let's go find Den."

"_Leave us alone!"_ they heard from across the room.

"Uh-oh," Prussia whispered. They turned and spotted Denmark, with his old lady, arguing with the Schwarzenegger impersonator. Loudly. Right in the middle of the casino. "I saw that old lady with him before. Guess he can't shake her."

Conan then tried to take Denmark's arm and pull him aside, but Den resisted.

"Damage control," Prussia said, and the three of them downed their drinks and ran over to him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa, what's going on here? Den, what are you yelling about?"

"Go away, bastard," Romano said to the fake Arnold.

"This guy is a friend of yours?" The impersonator's accent had slid back into French again as he spoke with Romano.

"Yes, he is, wanker, why the bloody hell are you pestering him?" England stepped up to face the burly man. Romano and Prussia moved to flank Denmark, but the old lady wouldn't let go of Den's arm.

"This lady is a well-known con artist," Conan said.

"Con artist?" Romano shook his head. "You're an idiot. No wonder you can only make a living parading around in a Conan outfit. No brains."

But – "_Con artist_?" Denmark screeched. He yanked his arm away from Walburga.

The impersonator had flagged down a staff member and was talking to him in low tones, gesturing towards the old lady. She appeared to find this rather serious, and dropped Denmark's arm. "See you later, sweetie! Thanks for bringing me all that good luck! Gotta run!" Then Walburga ripped the oxygen tank out of her nose and mouth and legged it. Conan and the staff member sprinted after her.

The four friends stared after them. "Denmark. What the fuck? Did she fleece you, bastard?"

"No," he sighed, pushing a hand through his spiky hair. "She was just – uh – flirting with me?" His friends all laughed, and then he did too. "I lost a lot of money, and didn't get to drink too much, and I'm pissed as hell. How did you guys do?"

"I lost more than half my vacation money," Prussia admitted, sourly. "But Romano is giving me a little." He blew a kiss to Romano, who blushed.

"I lost a lot at roulette." England looked embarrassed to admit this.

"I won eight hundred Euros at the slots, bastard, but…before that, I lost five hundred. So it's only a net gain of three hundred."

Denmark sighed. "Are we done here?"

"Please," England groaned. "Get me out of here."

But Prussia was still looking around the room. "If I could only –"

"Gilbert, I'll give you some money, just – I'd like to leave now before things get worse."

"If you bastards want to stay here, I'll go back to the hotel with England."

Denmark put his arm around Prussia's shoulders. "Ah, come on, let's blow. The way things have been going, we're likely to just keep losing all night."

Prussia reluctantly admitted this was so. He took Denmark's hand and the four of them moved towards the doors; some people exited the gift shop in front of them. "Wait. You guys wait here. I'm going to buy a t-shirt for West. Maybe it will soften the blow." He slouched into the gift shop.

"Wait up, Gambling Man. I'll get something for my idiot brother, too. Maybe he and the potato bastard would like matching shirts."

"Kesesese."

Denmark and England waited in the lobby for their friends. "No more casinos," Denmark decided.

"At least Romano won a little money."

"I guess he won our bet, too."

England just nodded. Suddenly they heard a commotion inside the gift shop. "Man, what has Prussia done now?" They hurried over that way to see Prussia walking out of the gift shop, beaming, amidst a shower of falling confetti, blaring horns and applauding staff members and guests. Romano was barely noticeable, stomping along behind them all.

"What the hell?"

"Kesesese! It's awesome! I was the one millionth customer to buy something in the gift shop, so I won 25,000 Euros!" He continued waving and grinning at the other casino patrons, shaking the hands of the staff members while camera flashes went off.

"I don't believe it," Denmark said to England, who nodded in agreement. The casino manager then presented Prussia with a magnum of champagne.

England then sidled up to Romano during the commotion. "Why are you so glum?"

"The bastard! He let me cut in front of him in line. Said he was doing it to be nice about the fucking _spoon._ If he hadn't done that, _I_ would have won the 25,000 Euros. Fucking albino _bastard!_"

…

_Nothing wrong with Beethoven. Romano dislikes him on principle, because he's German._


	31. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 6

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 6. **

Over lunch the bickering was loud and spirited. "He said _gambling,_ albino potato. The bet was clearly 'who won the most at gambling.' That's what I agreed to. Not 'who walked out of the casino with the most money.'"

"Pfft, Romano, you can't seriously expect me to sit here and accept that? I won the most money, so I win the bet!" Prussia serenely drank some coffee. "Am I right, Den? Arthur? I'm right, aren't I?"

"You know…it was a stupid bet," Den answered.

England agreed. "You gamble too much, Denmark. Everybody thinks so."

"Everybody who?" Denmark was aghast.

"All the other Nordic nations are always talking about it," Prussia agreed. "Just the other day I heard Sweden babbling about it."

"That's ridiculous! Just because I go drinking with them all the time, and we sometimes make little bets…Besides, _Sweden_ doesn't babble."

"He was about this. He must have said three intelligible sentences in a row. Kesesese!"

"Ha. Must be a serious problem, then."

"Shut up, Romano."

The other three all laughed at the expression on Denmark's face. "Maybe you'd better just take a break from it, bastard."

"Let's just forget it, all right?" Den demanded.

"You didn't win, so you're just being sour. Been hanging around Arthur too much."

"Wanker. I wasn't part of your bet anyway. If you ask me, I believe Romano is correct; Denmark did say whoever won the most at gambling, and you all shook on it."

Romano gave England an appreciative smirk before poking the albino. "See, bastard? I get to choose the restaurant."

"No!" Denmark pounded a fist on the table. "Let's just call that whole bet off."

"Den. Why are you doing this to me? You want me to eat potato bastard food, don't you? Evil."

"Wait, wait, wait." Prussia pounded on the table. "Just where did you plan to choose, Romano? Almost every restaurant in town has German food, or Austrian variations on German food."

_"Chigi!"_

"Don't worry about it," England said, patting his hand. "We'll find a place."

"Bastards. All of you."

…

During the afternoon session, England slipped a note to Romano. A piece of paper with "4,650 €" on it. "What the fuck?" Romano hissed.

The island nation made a flipping motion, so Romano flipped over the paper. "How much I won last night" was on the other side.

"_What?_" Romano's yell interrupted the meeting, and the following silence was broken by only a tiny "kesesese" from across the table. "Uh. Sorry. Carry on," he said weakly, flapping a hand at Austria. He grabbed a pen and wrote something on the note.

"I thought you said you lost" England read. He wrote "I did lose…a little" before shoving the paper back at Romano and smirking.

But Prussia intercepted it and read it, flipping the paper over to read the number. "Iggy! You're joking!"

Austria pounded a fist on the table. "Prussia! Will you kindly shut your enormous mouth?"

No one heeded him. "Stop calling me Iggy!"

Denmark grabbed the paper and read both sides. "Damn! Good thing for us you didn't take that bet!"

By now the entire meeting was in an uproar, and Austria was furious. Switzerland pulled out a pistol loaded with blanks and shot it, quieting everyone instantly. "If you four can't focus, I'm going to have to separate you," Austria hissed at them. Prussia laughed at that, but the other three turned faux-contrite and folded their hands meekly in their laps. England grabbed the note back from Denmark and crushed it.

"Come on, Austria, this meeting is _soooo_ boring. Let's be done for the day?" Prussia blinked cutely at the host, who blushed and looked away. A chorus of supporting calls echoed Prussia's request.

"You always derail these meetings, Prussia. You shouldn't even be here! If you didn't come to them, they'd be a lot more productive." But Austria caved in. "All right. The meeting is adjourned for today. Please be here promptly at nine tomorrow; we have an important announcement."

"Uh-oh," both Romano and Denmark said, but Prussia wasn't listening.

…

"All right, bastard, spill. What the hell are you talking about? You said you lost a lot of money last night!" The friends had found a French restaurant and decided to eat there, considering it neutral dinner territory.

"I did. I lost a lot. And then I won a lot more. But you were all so depressed, I didn't want to crow about it. Also, I didn't want Gilbert pestering me to give him money."

"So let me get this straight." Denmark drank some wine. "We made a bet that whoever won the most money gambling won the bet. Prussia won the most, but it wasn't won by gambling. England won the most money gambling, but he wasn't part of the bet. And I had a net loss. So – Romano wins the bet. It's as simple as that."

"Thank you, Denmark," Romano told him in a calm and grown-up manner. Then he turned to Prussia and stuck his tongue out. "See, potato brain? I won!"

"Nuts," Prussia said, drinking his beer.

England poked him. "Eh, it doesn't really matter. How much did you lose, Den?"

"About two thousand Euros."

The island nation pulled out his wallet and forked over two thousand Euros.

"What the hell? Bastard, if you're handing out money, give me some!" Romano grabbed the arm holding the wallet.

"Git. You didn't lose any money last night. Denmark did."

"Thanks, England." Denmark put the money in his wallet. "I'll remember this."

Prussia sat with mouth agape. "I – I –"

"You didn't give him any, did you, Selfish Albino? Twenty-five thousand Euros and you didn't give any to your suffering boyfriend. Did you?" Romano smacked him in the arm.

"I – I –"

"Never mind about it, Teutonic Knights. What are we doing tonight?"

"Casino."

"Forget it!" the other three yelled.

"Fine. Whatever." The albino pouted for ten seconds and then cheered up. "Let's ride a carriage around the city for a while. Maybe we'll find something fun to do."

"Good enough," Denmark shrugged, and his friends agreed.

…

"Are you _insane?_" Romano yelled the next morning. Most of the other nations in the meeting room seemed to be in agreement with this, although Prussia was giving Denmark a contemplative look. England had his hands over his face and Japan looked like a deer in headlights.

"Do not argue, Romano," Austria sniffed. "Everyone is expected to participate."

Romano sat down and punched the table. A fucking _talent show_? "Dammit!"

"Ve, Romano, calm down! You can sing for us!"

"_Chigi!"_

"Bloody hell," England agreed under his breath.

"I have a brilliant idea," Prussia told them. "I'll tell you over dinner. Then we have all day Thursday to prepare for it."

"I always worry about your brilliant ideas, potato brain."

"No, no, it's an awesome idea."

"_Right_."

Nobody in the room paid much attention to Austria after the mandatory talent show announcement. This would be held Thursday evening in the hotel bar. Privately almost everyone thought Austria had, in fact gone insane. America was the only nation who seemed even vaguely interested.

"I wonder if he's going to do some fancy talent thing to win Austria back," Denmark considered. "Maybe a love song or something."

"That git can't sing."

But Prussia defended him. "America can awesomely sing, Arthur. You're just jealous."

"Shut it, wanker," England said listlessly. "Let's just get through this bloody meeting and then talk about the talent show."

…

Romano had found a little Italian place for the bet dinner. "It's impossible, I tell you." Prussia poked him. "The one Italian restaurant in town, and you unearth it."

"It's like pasta radar," Denmark laughed. "I hope it's good."

"I hope it's good, too, bastard." The three of them had ordered and were waiting for their meals. England had chosen to stay at the hotel and look up some ideas for talent competitions; he was just too depressed about the whole thing. "I'm always a little bit nervous about Italian food served in foreign countries."

"We'll see."

"So, Prussia, what was this idea you had for the talent show?" Denmark poked him.

"I was thinking the four of us could be Lucy and Ethel and Ricky and Fred and do a skit."

"Forget it, Lucy bastard. I know you want me to be Ricky, and I refuse."

"Den could be Ricky. That would actually be funnier."

"Forget it, I said." Romano drank some wine. "Maybe you bastards should do one of your rock songs."

"Theoretically a good idea, but we don't have our instruments!" Prussia ruffled Romano's hair, and the brunet slapped his hand away before fixing it.

"Well, then, what?"

"Maybe I should do something by myself," Denmark thought. "I could do a poetry reading or something. We have an amazing tradition of epic poetry."

Romano groaned and put his head in his hands. "Do not read that stupid Beowulf, please."

"Beowulf's not Danish! It's English," Prussia informed him. "It's _about_ a Dane, but it's not Danish."

"Whatever, smartass. Just don't read it."

"You'd better make sure Arthur doesn't think of reading it, kesesese."

"He won't! I won't let him."

Prussia poured himself some more wine. "Frankly, Den my dear, I'm surprised you haven't suggested we place a bet on whose talent thing will be best."

"Good point," Romano agreed.

"No. If people really think I've got a gambling problem, I'm going to lay off the betting for a while." Denmark put on a sophisticated, aloof expression, which made both the others dissolve into unmanly giggles.

"Too bad. I had a great idea for a bet," Romano then told him, wiping tears from his eyes.

Denmark narrowed his eyes, but did not speak.

"Ooh. What was the awesome bet idea?" Prussia took Romano's hand and squeezed it where it lay on the table.

Romano jerked his hand away. "Dammit. Stop holding my fucking hand. I thought we could each do our own talent thing…not in a group, you know, and whoever got the best score won the bet, and whoever lost the bet would have to pay England back his two thousand Euros." He drank some wine, not meeting anyone's eyes.

"That's such a stupid bet," Denmark said. "He wouldn't take the money from me, and he wouldn't take the money from you either. Which means the only way this bet would be any good is if Prussia lost and paid England back."

"Which he should do anyway," Romano pointed out.

Prussia began to grumble. "All right_,_ all _right,_ I'll pay Arthur back his two thousand Euros. Scheisse, you two are like my old grandmother."

"Uh – Prussia? Do you even _have_ a grandmother?" Denmark asked hesitantly.

"You know what I mean!"

Each of the nations fumed in silence for a little while, until the waiter brought the dessert menu. "Kesesese! Hey, they have that stuff you made us last summer. The stuff Arthur helped you cook?"

"Zabaglione, bastard. You can see it right on the stupid menu."

"Whatever." Prussia waved a hand. "Order it for me. I'm not too good with Italian pronunciation."

"Yes, all right. Den?"

"I can order my own dessert!"

Dessert passed in a fairly strained fashion as well.

"Well, this was thrilling," Denmark finally said. "Good thing I'm hanging out with you two. It's nice and peaceful." He smirked.

"Well, if you were hanging out with Sweden he'd probably be lecturing you about your betting habits, so…it really is a good thing you're hanging out with the awesome us. Right?"

Romano snorted and Denmark put his head in his hands.

…

"Hey, bastard, did you come up with any ideas?"

A loud snore was the only response as Romano walked into the hotel room. England laid face-down on the bed, fully-dressed, his laptop open to a web page about Beowulf. "Dammit! Wake up, you stupid idiot. Wake up!" Romano shook him awake.

"What? What? Is the bloody hotel on fire?"

"Why the fuck are you sleeping? And you are absolutely _not_ going to read Beowulf for a talent competition."

"What?" England sat up and rubbed his eyes sleepily. "What time is it?"

"It's only nine o'clock! Bastard, why are you sleeping? I realize you're the snooziest guy in the world, but this is insane."

"Eh, I fell asleep trying to come up with sodding talent show ideas. The only thing I could think of was a poetry reading. I'm thinking of doing Beowulf."

"No fucking way. Those bastards would never stop laughing."

"What are you talking about, git? Beowulf is outstanding epic poetry."

Romano explained why he didn't want to hear a reading of that outstanding epic poem.

"Oh. Well, all right."

"But what are we going to do?" Romano flopped down on the bed and pushed his face into the pillow. "We didn't even come up with anything at dinner, except the albino potato wanted us to do a Lucy skit."

England smiled and his eyes lit up. "That's brilliant! You can –"

"Don't even say it, stupid. Don't."

"Why not? It'd be funny. Though it would actually be better if Denmark was Ricky."

"Dammit! I feel like I'm living in a fucking echo chamber! You're just repeating everything that we said at dinner."

"Fine, wanker. I'll shut up." England went back to the laptop.

After a minute he hesitantly said, "Want to sing with me?"

"No. I don't even want to do this."

"Maybe we could call in sick."

"Bastard. You don't think every nation in this hotel is thinking that exact same thing? If we all call in sick we're going to look like a bunch of childish morons."

"I'm almost willing to do it, if it gets me out of singing."

"Who said anything about singing? Anyway, you're a good singer. I suggested you guys do some rock and roll thing, but Prussia reminded me you don't have your instruments."

"Aha!"

"Aha what?"

"What room are they in?"

"Seven-ten, I think. Why?"

England grabbed him by the wrist. "Come on, let's go talk to them."

…

"That's not a bad idea, England." Denmark clapped him on the back. Prussia and Romano were both sitting on the bed, considering this new plan. "Good thing we have the afternoon to prepare."

"Oh! By the way, Arthur, here are your two thousand Euros back." Prussia pulled money from his wallet and handed it to England, who shrugged.

"Ta. Well? Are we going to do it?"

"You know me, I awesomely love to show off, no matter what we do. I'm in."

"Sure, I'll do it," Denmark added. "We'll need to get busy in the shops tomorrow."

Everyone looked at Romano. They were surprised not to see a scowl on his face.

"Cheh, yeah, all right. Let's talk about it more over breakfast."

"Sounds like a plan! Kesesese!"

…

_When I was writing the casino chapter I had the idea that the impersonator was going to be a guy in drag, who went after Denmark, but that didn't work out well. But…by that point the two ideas of "guy in drag" and "Denmark" had merged together in my brain. I want to get Denmark into a dress, so that is why Austria suddenly decided on a talent competition._


	32. Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 7

**Salzburg Meeting, Chapter 7.**

"Kesesese! Spain and France are going to be so awesomely impressed with me. Oh – I gave Austria some cash. He's going to get the equipment we need, make sure it's set up and working. I gave him a little extra to let us be last on the performance list," Prussia told them, as they headed for the shops that afternoon to find their gear.

"Great idea, Amenable Man. Maybe there's something other than potatoes in that head of yours after all." Romano punched him fondly on the shoulder. "If everybody's drunk by then, maybe it won't be so bad."

Denmark, who had been optimistic all morning, now seemed a bit glum. "I hope we can find some of this stuff."

"Don't worry your awesome little spiky-haired head about it, sweetie. If we can't find it ready-made, we can cobble some stuff together from fabric stores or whatever."

Denmark nodded.

"So how much did you pay Austria, bastard?"

"Couple thousand Euros. No sweat off my back, and he was happy to get it. We can always go back to the casino and gamble some more."

"No, we can't!" the other three yelled.

"No gambling, albino potato."

"No casino," Denmark added firmly.

To defuse tension, England pointed out a shop that might have some of the things they needed. The four friends went in.

…

Half an hour later they all came out laughing, even Romano. "This actually might be fun, bastards."

England punched him. "Of course it will be fun. Just loosen up a little."

"Hey, there's a drugstore, we can get the makeup we need." Denmark held the door for his friends.

"Listen," Romano hissed, pulling England aside, "I don't know anything about makeup and shit! Can you help me?"

"You are just the cutest little thing," said Prussia, who'd overheard, tapping him on the head. "We can all awesomely help you. Come on."

Laden with bags of makeup and heavy-duty cleanser, they left the drugstore an hour later.

…

"_Bloody hell!_" England stood in front of a shop window, jaw dropped. "Hey! Hey, I'm changing my outfit to this one. Look! Bloody hell, who would have thought?" He dragged Romano into the shop; Prussia and Denmark looked in the window and laughed.

"Awesome, Arthur, but you need the right accessories."

"I know, I know, git. Don't worry." He rushed up to the clerk, spoke hastily, and a few moments later walked out of the dressing room in the outfit he'd seen in the window.

"Bastard, ahem, that…actually looks really…_really_ good on you," Romano said, blushing furiously, surreptitiously checking for a nosebleed.

Prussia was blushing, too. "Arthur…I…had no idea."

"Hands off him, Lucy." Romano shoved Prussia aside.

"Wankers. So you think I should do it?"

Denmark nodded appreciatively. "Yeah, do it. It makes a better statement this way. Bolder. Make sure you get the right boots."

"Oh, yes. Boots." The clerk helped him with the purchase of boots and outfit.

"Wear that outfit for me tonight," Romano whispered to him as they left the shop.

…

"Right, so all we need now is wigs. Let's go. I do happen to know where there's an awesome wig store in Salzburg."

"Why doesn't that surprise me," Romano sighed, but they did need the wigs. Prussia led them away.

Denmark looked through his wallet as they walked. "Damn, I'm almost out of money again."

"Good entertainment isn't cheap, my friend. But I'll give you some more money. I have a lot of money, now, you know."

"Did you ever pay the potato bastard back?"

Prussia nodded. "Yes, yes, that was the very first thing I did. He was surprised."

"No kidding. I'm guessing he was pretty happy, too." Romano could just imagine how Germany would have reacted to his broke brother pressing a big wad of cash into his hand.

"Yep! Awesomely happy. Took your brother out to a fancy dinner to celebrate."

"Chigi!"

…

"Let's just get all the stuff ready in our room," Denmark suggested later, as they headed to the hotel laden with purchases. "We can run up and throw it on before we go on stage."

"Good enough for me, wanker. We just need to allow a little makeup time."

"This is going to be so – much – fun. Even more fun than singing in Seattle! This is going to be the best memory of this vacation! Best memory of the entire _year! _I wish we could have it filmed."

"Too bad we didn't make a bet," Denmark said automatically, and scowled when the other three gave him dirty looks. "All right, all right, sorry. That was just a reflex comment. But damn, I'm glad I found this outfit. It's perfect!"

"It's so you," Prussia agreed. "No other nation in the world could pull that off."

Romano thought about this. "Maybe Russia?"

"Nah. He's got the stature, but not the panache."

"Prussia! You think I've got panache?" Denmark laughed and blew him a kiss. "You're so sweet."

"You've got it all, Den."

…

Inside the room the four nations eagerly spread out their purchases.

"I need to get busy on this," Prussia realized. "Anybody want to help?"

Romano threw his bags on the bed. "Yeah, I'll help. I just have to pin some necklaces and shit on the clothes and boots, which won't take long."

"I don't have much to do either, so I'll help." England punched Prussia affectionately. "Thanks for the loan. I'll pay you back when I get back to my room." He'd spent a lot of money today, but he hadn't been carrying all his cash with him.

"Aw, Arthur. Consider it a gift. You know I have a lot of money now."

"Better be careful, Prussia," Denmark said absently, looking at all his accoutrements spread out on one bed. "You'll spend it all and be broke again."

"Not me. That wouldn't be awesome. I'm going to invest it and make money to spend in LA."

"Good luck with that." England was already busy with the help Prussia needed, and sounded a little out of breath.

"Okay, let's get to work."

…

All the nations had congregated in the hotel bar for the contest, drinks in hand. Austria stood up to open the show.

"As you know, everyone is expected to participate. Switzerland, Estonia, China and I will be the judges. Do your best, everyone!"

As he walked back to the judging table Prussia grabbed his sleeve and hissed, "Did you get the stuff I asked for?"

"Yes, yes. Leave me alone, Prussia! Just watch the show!"

The first act was the four other Nordic nations, who did an "I Love Lucy" skit.

"Dammit. Good thing we _didn't_ do that."

"Shut up," Denmark hissed. "I want to hear this!"

They were moderately funny, especially Sweden, who, surprisingly, was playing Ricky. When they'd finished their little skit, the nations in the room applauded politely.

…

An hour later, America took the stage. He looked really good in a tuxedo with a red, white and blue bowtie. "This song – this song is for Austria," he announced, blushing a little. He adjusted his glasses and began singing an _a cappella_ version of Adele's "I'll Be Waiting."

Denmark nudged Prussia. "Told you."

"Kesesese, yes, yes, all right."

Austria blushed deeply and stared at the stage as America sang. Switzerland was frowning, but America sang so well that Austria stood up and applauded ferociously when the song was over, even though nobody else was that enthusiastic. He hurriedly sat back down, reddened face to the table, and scribbled something on a piece of paper.

America looked pretty pleased with himself. "I hope it works for him," England hissed to Romano, who nodded.

…

Liechtenstein and Poland, both in leopard print dresses, took the stage together, surprising everyone. "What the hell?" Denmark asked.

"We don't have time to stick around and watch, though!" Prussia warned them. "There are only two other acts before we go on. Come on, we have to go get dressed." The four of them slipped out of the room as the two nations on stage began a little comedy routine together.

…

They were all prepared, waiting in the wings. "Machine all ready?" Denmark asked, making sure his headdress wasn't getting crushed against the ceiling.

"Yes, it's awesomely ready." Everyone was standing far away from Prussia.

England flipped the long hair of his wig and struck a dramatic pose. "Oh. Hang on, Romano. You need some adjusting." He fiddled with Romano's wig. No matter how they'd tried – with hair spray, clips, and gel – they couldn't get Romano's hair curl to stay under the wig (England was the only one he'd allowed to touch it), so it now stuck out, making a dark contrast against the wavy blond locks. "Sorry."

"Cheh, forget it. Thanks for trying." He squeezed England's hand; the island nation beamed at him.

Austria stuck his head through the makeshift stage curtains. "All right, you four, this had better be good!"

"It will be," Denmark said, shoving him away. "Romano, got the microphone? Are you ready?

"Yes, bastard." He smirked. "Of course I am."

"Get out there and wow them."

…

Romano slithered slowly onto the stage area in his high-heeled tan boots. A hush fell over the room, splintered only by the tinkle of broken glass as Spain dropped his drink on the floor. "L-Lovi?" he moaned. Tastefully made up, Romano was wearing beaded green short shorts, a green bra, and a white stuffed snake around his neck. Spain kept staring, as a bar employee moved to clean up the broken glass.

_"Veee…~" _

"Hello, all you bastards," Romano breathed seductively. "My name is Britney. I'm here tonight with some of my friends, and we're going to sing a song for you. First, I'd like to introduce my albino friend Lady Gaga."

Prussia walked out in a dress covered in pale pink balloons, wearing a platinum blond wig, very heavy makeup, black fishnet stockings and silver heels. "Whoa," they heard America say. Prussia blew some kisses to the audience, most of whom were laughing by now.

"Next, our Danish friend Cher." Denmark, wearing a gigantic black feathered headdress, sashayed out in a dress that was pure showgirl: black sequined skirt, bodice resembling a spider web, and black sequined wrap. From the tip of his headdress to the bottom of his six-inch stilettos the Nordic nation stood nearly nine feet tall; Romano looked like a doll next to him.

"Denmark?" Norway squeaked from the side of the room. Denmark waved at him, grinning cheekily, and struck a flamboyant pose.

By now the audience was in hysterics, except for Spain, who was frozen and drooling over Romano, and Poland, who was frozen and drooling over Denmark's outfit.

"And finally, my boyfriend, Ginger Spice." England stomped out authoritatively in his red platform boots and Union Jack minidress, flipping his long red hair around, blowing Romano a kiss.

"Hello, Salzburg!" he called out, grinning and waving. Most of the nations in the room waved back at him, still laughing; France began to look a little distracted.

Prussia took the microphone from Romano. "This is a little number called 'Boom Boom Pow.' We hope you like it!"

Denmark bent to switch on the karaoke machine and Prussia started singing. The listening nations quieted down; they'd expected a camp performance, but Prussia sounded pretty good. Feet and fingers began tapping as he kept up with the fast-paced, heavy beat. Denmark and England provided visual interest, dancing and backing up Prussia on the vocals. Romano stood to the side and stroked his plush snake suggestively, smirking through heavily-mascaraed lashes at those slobbering bastards Spain and France.

The island nation stepped forward, planted his legs a few feet apart, and belted out the Fergie verse into the microphone; nations began clapping along. At the end of the verse he tossed the mic to Romano, who talked his way through the next verse without too much of a problem, scowling the whole time.

Denmark took the mic and swung his hips as he came to the front of the little stage, grinning and singing the next verse in an operatic way before handing the microphone back to England.

"People in the place, if you wanna get down, put your hands in the air! Pruss.i.a, drop the beat now!" England burst out laughing as he said that, and his wig fell off. He scooped it up and put it back on haphazardly, still laughing as Prussia took the mic.

Everyone jumped up and began to dance along with the cavorting nations on the stage. Denmark stepped back and bumped into Prussia, popping a balloon or two. "Let the beat rock!"

By this point everyone was dancing, even Switzerland, laughing along with Estonia behind the judging table. America had collared Austria and they were having fun together; Iceland, in his Lucy outfit, was dancing with the feline Liechtenstein.

When the song wound down, everyone in the room was happy and exhausted. The four nations hugged each other and stepped down into the room, accepting the cold drinks Austria had ordered for them, talking happily with their friends, showing off their awesome costumes. France and Spain kept trying to get close, and England and Romano kept dodging them.

The judges convened behind the table, discussing things in low whispers. Nobody really paid attention to them.

"Attention!" Austria yelled, rapping on the table like a conductor with a baton. "Everyone, attention!"

No one heeded him; Switzerland shot a blank into the air, which sobered them all.

"Attention, please," the host nation said in a slightly more sedate tone. "We are ready to announce the winners."

A hush fell over the room. He'd never told them what the prizes would be. This could be interesting.

"First runner-up is America, for his beautiful song." Austria beamed at America, and Switzerland absently shot off his pistol again, making everyone (including himself) jump. Austria ignored him. "You win an intimate dinner for two at one of Salzburg's finest restaurants."

"And I know just who I wanna take there, too." The tall blond smiled as he stood to take the gift certificate from Austria.

"Bloody git still can't speak proper English," England grumbled under his breath. Prussia, who heard him, poked him.

"In second place we have Poland and Liechtenstein's comedy routine." The two leopard-clad nations rose to shake his hand politely. "Your prize is a thousand-Euro shopping spree at one of our fine department stores."

"A thousand _each?_" Poland squealed. "That's, like, totally awesome."

Austria nodded and handed them each a gift certificate. They returned to their space in the crowd.

"And by unanimous decision, the first-place winners tonight are Prussia, Denmark, Romano and England. Congratulations!" Austria drifted over to shake their hands.

"Kesesese! What do we win? What's the awesome prize?"

Everyone in the room listened eagerly. "Ten thousand Euros in casino credits at the Salzburg Casino!"

…

_I'm definitely going to try drawing these guys in their outfits. _

_I picked Cher for Denmark because she's about as non-Danish as you can get: half Cherokee and half Armenian. Plus this is exactly the type of outfit I was picturing Denmark wearing, 100% Vegas showgirl. You can see it by searching for "Cher headdress Oscars."_

_England was going to be Madonna in her "Like a Virgin" dress, before he spotted the Union Jack dress in the shop window. And Ginger Spice's dress is…_really mini. _And really tight._

_I simply couldn't figure out how they could make Gaga's meat dress in the time they had available, so I went with the bubble dress for Prussia._

_And Romano, of course, is Britney Spears with her snake from the 2001 VMAs._

_This is the end of the Salzburg sequence. Hope you enjoyed it. I'm thinking there will be 1-2 one-shot chapters before they go off to LA._


	33. Romano in Wonderland

**Romano in Wonderland.**

"Here are the pillows and blankets, bastards." Romano flung them onto the floor.

"Thanks." Denmark patted his foot, since he was already lying on the floor. "Prussia wants a fire."

"Cheh. When doesn't he? Where is he, anyway?"

"Bathroom. Too much beer."

"Any beer is too much beer." Romano moved to the fireplace and began to lay the fire.

"Thanks, sweetie," Prussia beamed, bouncing into the room. "The pizza was awesome."

"It really was!" Denmark agreed. "But...I'm looking forward to sleeping. We had an exhausting day."

"I know." Prussia arranged blankets and pillows for the three of them, this time with Romano in the middle. "Kesesese."

"Whatever, bastard," the Italian said, sighing as he looked at the sleeping arrangements. The fire was flaring up, and his head hurt. He climbed into the spot between his friends and settled in to sleep. "Good night."

"Good night," Denmark said, pinching his cheek, and "Good night, awesome ones," from Prussia.

...

Romano walked through a forest with strange trees and creepy undergrowth that looked like black pasta. "Where the fuck am I now?" he wondered aloud. He started to call out for his friends, before realizing a shout might bring someone he wasn't interested in talking to. He walked on, trying to find a path.

"Yo!" he heard from above him. When he looked up, America was sitting in a tree, grinning down at him.

"What the hell are you doing in a tree, burger bastard?"

"Kesesese!" America said, which struck Romano as really odd, though he couldn't remember why. "Just hanging out. Wanted to see your dress. It's really cute!" America gave him two thumbs up and fell out of the tree to land at Romano's feet. "Ow."

"You okay?" But Romano's attention, as he looked down at the larger nation, was distracted by the fact that he was wearing a dress! A _dress!_ Dammit, what the hell had those bastards done to him now? "Denmark! Prussia!" he called out, but the only response was America's continued groans of pain.

Romano looked at the dress again. Well, it was better than his Britney Spears outfit, at least. It was a pretty nice moss green color. He knew this kind of color emphasized the amber of his eyes. So in that respect it wasn't too much of a problem. But it had lace around the sleeve cuffs - lace and pearl buttons, which for some reason made him think of England. In fact this whole dress was kind of an English style. Had he forgotten something? Why would England want him in a dress? He snorted.

America rolled over onto his back and stopped moaning. "Well, anyway, you look pretty good in that dress," he considered. "You might want to get moving. It's getting late."

"It is? Oh!" Romano picked up his skirts and began to run, but almost immediately tripped over a tree root. When he got up he took a second to check out his shoes.

Huh. He'd assumed they'd be some girly things, to go with this dress, but they were actually his own regular boots. Well, that was good; he wouldn't get blisters. He started running again...

...before realizing that he had no idea where he was going. Or why. "Fuck!"

"Hey, stop yelling, man," Greece said from atop a giant mushroom. "I'm trying to get some sleep."

"When are you _not_?" Romano snapped. "Where the hell am I supposed to be going?"

Greece raised a lazy hand and pointed. Romano walked on.

"Awesome!" he heard from behind a tree.

"Now what?" he murmured to himself. He passed the tree and Prussia jumped out at him.

"Kesesese!"

"What the hell are you doing, albino potato?" Prussia was dressed in skinny pants, a lacy shirt, tight blazer, and a freakishly high top hat.

"Dressing up! You know how the awesome me loves to dress up. Don't I look good?" He pirouetted on the spot.

"You look like a fucking idiot."

"Well, you don't look so good yourself. Why are you in a dress? Kinky games with Arthur?" Prussia smirked. "Den and I play those games sometimes. Usually it's me in the dress, but you know I look good no matter what I wear."

"Dammit! Shut up, shut up! I do not want to know about what you and Denmark do together. And, and I don't even know what the hell I'm doing in this dress anyway," Romano grumbled. "Why am I in a dress?"

"I don't know! I just asked you, remember? Hey. Come on. I'm meeting Denmark for tea. You can join us. Though in that dress you might drag down the tone of the meal." Prussia put his arm around Romano and they walked off, the Italian grumbling under his breath the whole time.

They reached a clearing which was set with long tables made of chocolate. "What the fuck? Are these tables made of chocolate, or just made to look like chocolate?" Romano bent down and sniffed at them. Huh. Smelled like chocolate.

"They're awesomely chocolate. Swissy lent them to me for the tea."

"Who is coming to this stupid tea?"

"Just me and Denmark, as far as I know. Have a seat. Den will be here soon."

Den was indeed there soon, as he popped out from behind a tall tree, beaming. He too wore a strange outfit, a white fur coat with a hat that looked like floppy bunny ears.

"You two are up to something stupid, I can tell," Romano sighed.

"Ah! Romano, you need to get changed," Denmark told him.

"What? You mean I can get out of this idiotic dress? Where are my real clothes?" He looked around the clearing but didn't see them.

Denmark reached into the pocket of his fur coat and pulled out a little white fur suit. Wordlessly, he handed it to Romano.

"What is this? Some kind of bunny suit?" He held it at arm's length, distastefully.

"It's a mink suit, kesesese! We couldn't get a dormouse costume, so you have to be the albino mink. Put it on!"

Romano sighed. Well, at least it would get him out of the dress. "Why do I have to get out of the damn dress?"

"Because we found someone else who makes a better Alice," Denmark told him. Romano was too bothered about the mink costume to attend to this properly. When he'd finally struggled into it and zipped it up, he looked at his friends to see England standing between them in a frilly blue dress with an apron and girly shoes, red-faced and scowling like a demon.

"Bastard! What the hell?"

"Don't ask me! I've no bloody idea what these wankers are thinking."

"Arthur, stop being a wet blanket. You look really pretty. Come sit at Swissy's table and have some tea."

"Any tea you gits make is bound to be terrible. I'm leaving."

"You can't leave! Come on, we need to have our tea."

"Have it without me, Den. I'm going home to put my uniform back on. I feel like an idiot in this dress."

"You _look _like an idiot in that dress, too," Denmark laughed at him. "Come on, play along."

England plopped down on a bench and began picking away at the tabletop.

"Stop fiddling with Swissy's chocolate table! He'll shoot us!"

Romano found a little sympathy for his angry, dress-clad boyfriend and sat across the table from him, smiling weakly. England didn't react. "Who got the tables, bastards? Who would he shoot?" Romano thought to ask.

"Me!" Prussia crowed. "You don't think he'd do something this nice because _Denmark_ asked him?"

"Hey! Shut the hell up, Teutonic Knights!" Denmark pushed Prussia.

This immediately escalated into a real fight, until Denmark threw Prussia across the clearing and he landed on a table, breaking it.

Before anyone could speak, Switzerland ran into the clearing with a rifle. "Get away from my tables!" He shot a warning shot into the air. Nobody moved. "Get away!" He shot again, and this time the bullet hit a table, spraying chocolate everywhere. "Damn you all!" Switzerland went on a shooting spree, aiming at the four of them, until all four were lying on the ground wounded.

"Bastard, you are fucking insane," was the last thing Romano remembered saying, before blacking out.

...

He woke up on the floor of his living room, heart pounding, and sat up. Denmark was snoring like a chainsaw and Prussia had stolen all the blankets.

Romano grabbed his pillow and stormed off to his own bed. Dammit. That was the _last fucking time_ they would ever use gravlaks and wurst as pizza toppings.


	34. Denmark in Wonderland

**Denmark in Wonderland.**

Denmark stretched and felt the fabric of his top rip. "What?" He craned his neck to look at his back; of course he couldn't see it, but he could definitely see the pink velvet fabric. "_What?_ Hey, Prussia! Where are you? I thought it was your turn tonight!"

Then he calmed down a minute and looked at his outfit. Pink velvet, yep. A dress, yep. It had little golden eagles embroidered on it. So this was not one of the dresses they'd used before. Since it had ripped when he stretched, it was too small, so it was probably designed for Prussia, who was not, he realized, responding to his shout. He decided to walk around and see if he could find him. It was really cold here.

"Uhhhh…" he heard from behind a large bush.

"Prussia?"

But behind the bush was Japan. Dressed like Cher. The feathered headdress was too large for his tiny frame and made him look like an unbalanced bowling pin. "Denmark-san."

"What is it?" he asked politely.

Veneziano stepped out from behind another tree, in Romano's Britney outfit. "We have orders to take you to the Queen, ve! Come along!" He whacked Denmark with the stuffed snake. Japan grabbed his arm and they frog-marched him along through the well-lit forest for a while. He looked around as they walked, but didn't see anything unusual, and he couldn't figure out why it was so cold.

"Hey, Prussia!" he yelled, just for the hell of it.

"Do not speak again, Denmark-san. You are in big, big trouble!"

They came to an abrupt halt before a tall, ornate throne. A menacing figure sat there. Yes. It was Germany, wearing the Ginger Spice outfit. The outfit was much too small.

"Hey, Germany! What are you doing up there?"

Germany descended the long flight of stairs, and Denmark could see that he had on the Ginger Spice wig, too.

"Ve! Don't be so familiar with the queen!"

Denmark burst out laughing, and Japan smacked him in the back of the head. "I always knew you were more violent than you let on," Denmark snarled, rubbing the back of his head.

Germany finally reached the bottom of the stairs. "Off with his head," he told Veneziano nonchalantly, more concerned about pulling the minidress down a little further. With the platform boots on, Germany appeared to be about ten feet tall. Denmark wished he was still wearing his stilettos, but he had his normal military boots on. Damn. He wondered how Germany could be so comfortable in such skimpy clothing, when it was so cold.

"Well? You heard her, ve, we have to cut off your head; come on." Veneziano tried to pull Denmark out of the clearing; Japan grabbed his other arm again, and his headdress slipped off. He ignored it. Germany stayed in place, still tugging on the dress' hem.

This was ridiculous. If Denmark couldn't get away from two little pipsqueaks like Japan and North Italy, Prussia would laugh him out of existence! He jerked his arms away and began to run.

"Stop, I'm warning you," Japan said pleasantly, before the earth erupted and a giant hero robot, looking like America, came forth.

"I-am-the-hero," it said, in a robotic imitation of America's voice. "I-will-cut-your-head-off."

"Like hell!" Denmark yelled, running between its legs and out of the forest, feeling the bodice of the dress rip as he ran. He ran for perhaps a mile, and when he heard no sounds of pursuit, rested behind a tree.

"You are disturbing my siesta-aru." China sat at a small bistro table beneath a tree. One teacup and a teapot sat on the table.

"Since when do you take siestas?"

"Since I have decided to take siestas-aru! Now shut up!" A used teabag flew towards Denmark's head; he ducked, and it flew beyond him.

"Have you seen Prussia? Or Romano?" Dimly Denmark wondered why he hadn't been looking for Romano yet.

"Yes. Russia and Prussia just went off that way. Now go after them and let me sleep."

"Whatever you say!" He followed China's pointing finger into a big field of dwarf sunflowers.

"I love sunflowers!" he heard. Expecting Russia or Prussia, he was dumbfounded to spot Romano, dressed in Prussian uniform, capering happily in the sunflowers.

"Oh," Denmark finally realized. "This must be a nightmare." He made himself wake up.

Huh. No sign of Romano. And Prussia had all the blankets. "Give me those," he hissed, stealing most of them back and rolling over. A pink velvet dress, indeed. Prussia was going to pay for that. Even if it _had_ only been a dream.

…

_No prizes for guessing what the next chapter title will be._


	35. Prussia in Wonderland

**Gilbird in Wonderland.**

_(Not really. Just a little joke for Lady Sandglass.)_

…

**Prussia in Wonderland.**

_(Though Gilbird may indeed make an appearance.)_

The White Queen stood and stretched, admiring herself in the large cheval mirror in Romano's living room. "Kesesese! I am really extraordinarily beautiful." She eyed with appreciation the white wedding gown she wore, laden with tulle and brilliants, the dashing tiara that set off her crimson eyes. "Time to get out there and wow my subjects!"

Out in the brilliant sunshine the gown twinkled like a festival of stars. The queen twirled and twirled on a grassy knoll. "I send little beams of delight everywhere I go."

After a few minutes she tired of this and walked on in her sturdy jackboots. There was no sound in the area, no sound at all except the crunching of twigs and leaves under the queen's feet. "Where are those guys?" she wondered aloud.

"I'm right here, Prussia," Austria sniffed haughtily. "You don't need to make so much noise when you walk. You disrupt the symphony of nature."

"What? What 'symphony of nature'? All I can hear is leaves crunching." Prussia was rather distressed at this conversation and forgot that he was supposed to be the queen.

"Leaves crunching is part of the symphony. Listen to the birds, the screams, the babble of the brook…"

"The _screams?_" they both yelled, now becoming aware of a fierce and frightening scream in the distance.

"Come on, let's go." Prussia picked up his skirts and ran, and it wasn't until he reached the screamer – Denmark – that he realized Austria had abandoned him. "Den, what the hell are you screaming about?"

"Th-there's something scary over there," Denmark stuttered, pointing towards a small copse of trees.

"Don't be a baby. What could it be?"

"I don't know!"

"Well, what's it like?"

"Scary!"

"Den, you are impossible. Look, as long as you stop screaming I don't care how chicken you are, although I'm going to make your life hell about this when I wake up. So stop screaming, all right? Kesesese!"

Denmark turned and fled from the scene.

Prussia was kind of intrigued, though, because there wasn't much that could intimidate the big Viking like that. Ha ha, he'd bet it was Romano, playing a prank. Holding up the skirts of the glimmering bridal gown, he stepped closer to the trees.

But there was nothing there. Nothing at all. "Huh. He's been drinking." He came back out, trying to remember where he had been heading, but…couldn't. "Hey, Denmark!" he yelled. "Romano!"

A very faint answering yell came from over a hill. He couldn't make out the words, but he could definitely hear Romano's angry voice, which got deeper and more accented whenever he started yelling in earnest. Better get over there and save him! Prussia pelted towards the source of the shouting, absently hoping none of the diamonds were coming off the dress.

Romano and Veneziano were facing each other, shouting in Italian at the top of their lungs. No wonder he couldn't make it out. "Stop yelling!" Prussia yelled.

They immediately stopped and turned to face him. He noticed they were both wearing clothing that resembled the Italian flag. "What are you doing here, albino potato?"

"Ve, why didn't you bring us a juicy tomato?

"You shouldn't interrupt our screams!"

"Or we will send you unpleasant dreams, ve!"

Romano turned to his brother, irritated. "Stop putting your stupid 've' at the end of every sentence! It won't rhyme, and I refuse to say 've' just to make it rhyme!"

"You could say 'hey,' or 'yay,'" Veneziano suggested, making Romano stamp his foot in anger.

Prussia had stood dumbfounded during all this. "What the hell is going on here?"

"I'm Tweedledum," Romano said, "although technically Veneziano is quite a bit dumber than I am."

"Oh, Romano, you're so mean. I'm Tweedledee, ve! Romano says things and it's my job to make rhymes for them."

"What kinds of rhymes do you make?"

"Rhymes about carrots and cake! Ve," he hurriedly appended.

"This is so fucking stupid, dammit."

"Ve, take out a hammer and wham it!"

"Veneziano, you're a fucking _idiot!_"

There was a short silence.

"Ve, I can't think of a rhyme for idiot, can you, Prussia?"

"Nope. No awesome rhymes for idiot. Sorry, Romano."

"Don't 'sorry' me, bastards. I'd just as soon not have to listen to this fucking bullshit."

"Well, then come with me, because I'm trying to find Den. He ran off a little while ago."

"And just where he went, ve, we don't know!"

"_Shut up!"_ Romano punched Veneziano and grabbed Prussia by the arm. They ran off, leaving the rhymer in the dust.

_"Veeee~…"_

"Dammit, he drives me nuts every once in a while."

"You know, I like your little brother, but it's a crazy style. Kesesese!"

"Oh, not you too," the brunet groaned.

"Nope. I'll stop. Just teasing you. You know you love rhymes."

"I'm going to kill you, Teutonic bastard."

"No, you're not; you're going to help me find Den! Come on. _Hey, Denmark!_"

There was a commotion behind some trees. "Think that's him?"

"I don't know," Prussia admitted. "I saw him earlier and he was screaming like Veneziano."

"Shut up."

"Come on. Peek around for him."

Together they sneaked over to the trees and peeked around. "Ha ha ha," Romano burst out, "no, it's definitely not Denmark!"

They walked around the tree to see Germany standing proudly in front of them, in full military dress uniform, complete with monocle and riding crop, which he was switching against his own leg nervously. He had his back to them, and was murmuring under his breath. The uniform was bright red, and…he wore a red tutu over the coat. "Whoa, West, that's a hell of a fashion statement!"

Germany turned to see his big brother wearing a white sparkly wedding gown. "How is it any worse than yours, Bruder?"

Prussia spared a moment to look down at the dress, which he'd forgotten. "Oh. Well, mine looks _good_ on me. In fact, I look awesome."

Romano didn't say anything, but stood off to the side, looking a bit fearful as Germany barked, "Off with his head!" and hit Prussia with the crop.

"Ow! West, that's uncool. Just because my dress is nicer than yours…"

"I'm telling you, Prussia, I've had enough of you. You're an ex-nation, Dummkopf, so, either get out of here, or let me cut off your head!"

"No way! You seriously want to cut off my head? Man. That's gratitude for you. After all those years of raising you, making sure you stayed strong…Come on, Romano, let's blow, before he starts getting choppy."

But Romano was no longer there. "Romano!"

No answer.

"Get out of here, Prussia. I have to practice my violin."

"Yikes! I'm going, I'm going, believe me!"

"And don't come back!"

"Nice tutu, West!" he called out as he ran away. "Very stylish!"

Prussia ran off and found Denmark sitting in a glen with Gilbird nesting in his spiky hair. "Hey, Den, where did you run off to?"

"Shh. You'll wake the birdie."

"Okay," Prussia stage-whispered. "Where did you run off to, kesesese?" His trademark laugh sounded very malevolent when he whispered it.

"Went to get beer. It's over this way. I've been waiting for you."

"You're so good to me. Don't you like my dress? You didn't say anything about it before."

"Yes, it's lovely; the white color suits you." Denmark led him placidly to a bistro table under a tree, where Romano and England were calmly drinking beer out of teacups.

"_Hic!_ Hi, Gilbert!"

"Hi, yourself, Arthur. What are _you_ wearing?"

"Just m'usual uniform, _hic_, why?"

"The bastard's drunk," Romano pointed out, as if Prussia couldn't have guessed.

"Awesome! Is there any more beer?"

"N-nope." Arthur put his head on the table and passed out.

"What? You couldn't save me any beer?"

"Calm down, albino potato, there's a whole case over here."

Denmark beamed. "A whole case full of awesome beer!"

Romano's eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything. Maybe he was afraid of more spontaneous rhyming? Prussia decided to test this as he reached into the case for a beer. "Open this up for me, will you, Den?"

"I did it once, I'll do it again!"

"Dammit!"

Both Prussia and Denmark started laughing as the brunet got up from the table and ran off. The two of them toasted each other with their beer bottles and drank.

"This is awesome beer indeed, my friend."

"If you're hurt, it will help you mend."

"Listen, Den, can the rhyming, will you? Romano was right, it is kind of annoying, and now that he's gone you don't have to keep doing it."

"Yeah, all right, but if he comes back, I'm going to start again."

"All right." They finished their beer and sat on the grass, somewhat idly watching the comatose Arthur snore.

"Wonder how many beers he had?" Prussia wondered.

"Enough to make him really glad!"

"Denmark, I told you to shut up with the rhyming!"

"I can't stop it! I have terrible timing!" Denmark clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Just – don't say another word."

But Denmark's hand lifted from his mouth just long enough for him to say, "I don't want to disturb Gilbird."

Prussia jumped up. "If you do it again, I'm going to leave!"

"Wait! There's a beetle on your sleeve!"

The albino ran off without commenting. When he was out of earshot of the annoying Denmark, he took a deep breath and stopped running. "Man, this is a very strange day."

Romano peeked out from behind another tree. "Did the bastard go away?"

Prussia gave Romano a funny look, but the Italian just shrugged. "I was just asking a question, bastard."

"I know. It's not some big disaster."

Both of them stared in shock as Prussia spouted this quasi-rhyme. Prussia waited for Romano to speak, to see if he could keep rhyming, but apparently his friend had learned his lesson, and resolutely kept his mouth shut, smirking.

It was a standoff.

Then Germany and Veneziano appeared, bearing gift baskets. "Prussia, I've decided not to cut your head off," Germany told him.

"It would be difficult to sneeze, ve, or cough!"

Romano grabbed the gift basket from his brother and whacked him over the head with it, still refusing to speak.

"Romano! That gift basket is for the queen!" Germany thundered.

This was too much for Romano, apparently, and he spoke. "What queen, potato bastard?"

"Prussia! Prussia is the white queen, ve!" Veneziano stepped forward and presented Prussia with the (slightly damaged) gift basket. "It's full of coupons for awesome beer!"

Germany handed his brother the other basket. "To make amends – well – here."

Romano turned and ran screaming from the clearing, but Prussia didn't bother following. He was too interested in the contents of West's gift basket. He eagerly tore off the shrink wrap and found a complete matched set of souvenir spoons. "West! I love you! Kesesese, this is the best dream ever!"

…

Prussia woke up and found himself lying uncovered on the floor of Romano's living room; Denmark, several feet away, had all the blankets, and was snoring loudly. Of Romano there was no sign. "What an awesome dream," he sighed happily, moving closer to Denmark and slipping under the blankets with him. "Things are not always as they seem."

Then he too clapped his hand over his mouth.


	36. How the Skirmish Brothers Became Friends

**How the Skirmish Brothers Became Friends.**

_Early April._ Many of the European nations are partying at a club in Berlin. Prussia, of course, being a sort of local host, is even more outrageous than usual tonight, wild, screaming, laughing. He had on an interesting blue sweater earlier, but took it off when it got too hot in the club.

In a corner, France and Spain are quietly drinking and talking together, with a drunken Romano passed out on their table. Nearby, Germany has loosened up a bit and is smiling, with a bubbly North Italy on his lap. The music is loud and exciting. England is dancing with America, for a change, and the Nordics are holding a drinking contest at a large round table.

Everyone, in fact, appears to be having a fun time, the usual type of raucous fun that always goes on at these events.

Everyone except Denmark.

The spiky-haired nation, who's sitting with the other Nordic nations, but not taking part in the contest, sighs and finishes his vodka martini almost absently. Yeah, he's been drinking a lot, but he's not worried about how it will affect him. He sighs again and waves at the manic Prussia, who is flitting past to get new drinks for someone.

Yes.

Denmark wants Prussia.

Denmark has wanted Prussia for centuries, but half the time they were warring, and the other half, Denmark had been with Norway. On-again, off-again, but there'd come a point where he realized Norway just wasn't the right kind of partner for him. Not loud enough, not fun enough. Not like an equal. Not like Prussia.

Denmark rarely lacks self-confidence, but boy, in the matter of the albino, he just doesn't know what to do anymore. These nation gatherings are so – so damn _public_ that he really can't get comfortable with the idea of rushing up to Prussia and blurting something out. Even if nobody overhears him, Prussia will probably think he's joking.

Damn it.

He decides to give up for tonight. Rising, he scoops up Prussia's blue sweater, which he hid under his chair a while ago, and takes it home, without making his goodbyes to anyone.

…

_Early May_. Denmark's been feeling like a girly wimp about all this, so, instead of staring morosely at the sweater and feeling lame, he has decided to go visit Prussia, without all the other nations around, and see if he can actually get somewhere. He has a shot of aquavit to brace himself before leaving, grabs the sweater again, and heads to Berlin with no advance warning. He can't even be sure Prussia will be home. Denmark might end up making polite conversation with Germany for a while, but what the hell. At least it's a start.

…

"I do not, repeat, _not_ want to go to the potato bastard's house!"

"Romano, ve, it will do you some good. I think you need to make some new friends. Every time you're with Spain you fight and get drunk! That's not good, ve."

"New friends, my ass," Romano grumbles, but a little part of him wishes he did have a good friend. Maybe not some stupid boyfriend to gush over him the way his fratello does with the stupid potato, but – but – "But the only one there is the albino potato, dammit, and it's impossible to be friends with him. He's too fucking insane."

"Ve. You haven't spent enough time around him to make that kind of comment, fratello. You're not doing anything today anyway, right? So just come spend the day! Maybe it will be better than you expect."

"Dammit." But what the hell. Romano's in a pissy mood, and it might be nice to vent at somebody else for a change, since it never seems to have any effect on either Veneziano or Spain, the only two people he spends any real kind of time with. "Fuck. Well, all right."

The Italy brothers get their shoes and jackets and head to Germany's place.

…

"West, what are we awesomely doing today?"

"_We_ are not doing anything, Bruder. Italy is coming over and I'm letting him choose where we go today."

"Awesome! I don't mind tagging along at all."

Germany raked his hands through his hair. "Prussia, I'm not entirely certain that either Italy or I want you tag–" His comment was cut off by the sound of the doorbell.

"I'll get it, West!" Prussia raced to the door, plastering a beaming smile onto his face, so that he could convince Veneziano to include him in the day's plans. He didn't want to sit around alone at home again.

He opened the door to both Veneziano and the grouchy Romano. "Hey, guys, come in! Awesome to see you. I didn't know you were coming along, Romano."

"Cheh. I didn't either. Get out of the way, albino potato." He shoved Prussia aside and stomped into the house; Veneziano, less uptight, gave the albino a friendly hug.

"Ve, where's Germany? Did he forget we were coming over?"

But the blond appeared from the living room. "Hello, Italy."

Veneziano launched himself at Germany with a loud squeal, so loud that only Prussia heard Romano's muttered complaint of "I'm Italy too, you fucking bastard."

Huh. Prussia had never thought about it that way. He looked at Romano with new eyes, but before he could say anything, Germany asked, "Did you decide what we're going to do today, Italy?"

"Ve. Do you have any bouncy houses in Berlin?"

"Bouncy houses?" Germany asked in disbelief. "You want to go dancing? I'm not even sure there would be a dance club open at this hour."

"No, stupid. He means, uh, inflatables. You know. Inflated buildings that you jump around in."

Light dawned for Prussia. "Oh! Like a moon bounce, right? Awesome! Yes, we have a place with a huge field full of different ones. Great idea, Veneziano! Let me get my shoes and coat."

"Prussia…" Germany's voice held a warning, but Prussia ignored it. He loved moon bounces – _bouncy houses_, kesesese, what a great term – and he wasn't going to let West be a party pooper. It would be totally unfair for Romano, Veneziano and West to go bouncing and leave him at home. _Completely_ unfair. He hurried to get his things.

Germany turned to his boyfriend. "I'm sorry, Italy. I can try to figure out a way to get Prussia to stay home."

But North Italy was nothing if not accommodating. "Ve, there's no reason for that, Germany. Romano and I don't mind if Prussia joins us." Here, he directed a look at his older brother, who scowled. "Let's all go bouncing together!"

Prussia came back into the room just in time to hear this. "Awesome, indeed, my Italian friends." He made it a point to include Romano in that. He suddenly wondered whether Romano ever felt uncomfortable around West and Veneziano. Because he, Prussia, certainly did. It was damned depressing sometimes.

But Romano was such an irritable bastard! Hah, even if the two of them tried to sneak away from West and Veneziano, Prussia wasn't sure he could take it. All that negativity…

"Well, then, let's get going," Germany sighed, putting his arm around Veneziano's shoulder. "The best place for inflatables is across town."

The four of them tramped to the front door, Romano still sulking. While Germany got his coat, Prussia grabbed the door handle and flung the door open in his exuberance…

…to find a startled Denmark on the front porch, eyes wide, taken aback. "Denmark! Hi. Come to go bouncing with us? Kesesese!"

"Uh, what?"

Germany and the Italy brothers came out of the house. "Hello, Denmark," the blond said to his northern neighbor. "I didn't realize you were coming to visit today."

Veneziano was staring at Denmark unabashed, but Romano was looking down at his shoes. Prussia made a snap decision. "Did you come to see me, Den? I hope you did. I haven't talked to you in forever. Come bouncing with us. We're going to jump on some inflatables. Veneziano calls them 'bouncy houses,' isn't that cool? Come on, you can bounce with me and Romano while these two lovebirds go off and bounce together."

Denmark still looked a bit like a deer in headlights, confronted with all this activity, but he laughed. "Sure, I like bouncing. I don't mind. Oh – I think this sweater is yours?" He handed the albino the blue sweater.

"Whoa! Where did you find it? I really love this sweater. Iggy knit it for me a long time ago, and I felt really bad that I lost it. He can be really sour sometimes, but when somebody makes you a handmade gift, it's not awesome at all to lose it. Let me throw it in the house and we can go."

"Just bring it along, Prussia. It won't get lost if it's in the car." Germany had already moved to the car and unlocked it. "Denmark, I suppose you'd better ride in the front."

"Ve, but Germany…"

"Italy, Denmark is much taller than you are. With both him and Prussia in the back seat, poor Romano will be crushed."

"Shut up, dammit."

"I'll tell you what, I don't mind driving," Denmark said. "Separately. Then if you guys want to go off and do something else, Prussia and I can take care of ourselves."

Only Prussia saw Romano's scowl intensify. "Yes, that's all right, Den, but we should take Romano with us, instead of making him stick around with the sappy lovebirds."

Romano's head snapped up and he looked at Prussia with suspicion. Then he looked at Denmark. "Whatever, bastards," he finally said, sighing.

"Awesome. West, you know how to get there, right? We'll go in Denmark's car and meet you there."

"All right, Prussia."

"Kesesese!"

In the car, Prussia (who'd called shotgun, relegating the once-again grumbling Romano to the back seat) turned to Denmark. "You came all this way just to bring my sweater back? That's so nice of you. It's good to see you; we haven't really talked to each other for a long time."

"Yeah, but going to an inflatables place is going to be fun! I haven't done anything like that in forever."

"Too busy with your nation stuff, huh?" Prussia turned sideways so he could include Romano in the conversation as well. "I don't have any nation work to do, unless I pester West so much that he gives me some work to shut me up." He sighed. "What about you, Romano?"

"Cheh. I don't like doing it, so I let my idiot brother do it all. He just does whatever the stupid potato tells him to do, anyway."

"But that's no good," Denmark pointed out, meeting Romano's eyes in the rearview mirror. "If you hate Germany so much – uh, sorry, Prussia –"

"No, that's awesomely all right; I know Romano can't stand him –"

"– well, then you shouldn't let things go on that way. Because then your country is being run on Germany's principles. I'd think that would get you even more pissed off."

"Kesesese! Hard to believe anything could get Romano _more_ pissed off!"

"Shut up, you idiotic albino. I didn't even want to be here today, so just leave me alone." The brunet blew out a sigh and turned to face out the window.

"Well, then, why did you come up? If you hate Germany, and you didn't want to be here?" Denmark looked confused, and Prussia could certainly understand why. Romano didn't make any sense, sometimes.

"_Chigi!_ My idiot brother thinks I need to make new friends." He turned red and rubbed a hand over his face. "Stupid idiot," he muttered in a lower tone.

Denmark didn't say anything, but Prussia – "Ah, West is just the same way with me."

"What?" This statement apparently jolted Romano right out of his doldrums. "You're always hanging out with other nations, you pest."

"Well. Not always because they want me to. I…if I don't pester people they might forget about me."

Denmark laughed at this, though, and reached out a hand to ruffle Prussia's hair. "How could anyone ever forget about you?"

"You are so sweet to me. Ever since I lost my nation status I sometimes think you're the only one who takes me even the slightest bit seriously." This sounded a bit maudlin, so Prussia added, "Kesesese." Then: "Turn left up here; the parking lot's on the right."

"Got it," Denmark answered, and parked the car.

…

By now Romano was feeling a little nervous. _Nervous_. Not angry, not irritated. Not even useless, which he felt more often than he cared to admit. No, Prussia had been acting almost friendly with him today. And that was making him edgy and nervous, so he didn't have the leisure to be cranky or sullen. He was going to stay very alert, just in case this was some kind of setup for a dumb prank.

Denmark, on the other hand –

Romano didn't know Denmark well at all. Oh, he recognized him, the spiky hair, the bright blue eyes, but he'd never spent more than a few passing minutes with him, and other than seeing him carousing with the other Nordic nations, hadn't formed much of an opinion of him at all. But their conversation in the car had been entirely reasonable.

Well, Romano considered, he had no preconceptions about Denmark, so maybe Denmark didn't have any about him? Or maybe people were beginning to forget about South Italy, too, just like they were about the albino potato.

Dammit.

Germany and Veneziano had already paid and gone into the building, so Romano fished some cash out of his pocket, but Denmark waved it aside. "I'll treat," he offered. "Nice to be having some real fun, today."

"Thanks, bastard."

"Oh, yeah! Now that I get to spend some time with you, I have to ask you this." Denmark paid the clerk. "I always wondered why you call everybody a bastard."

"Cheh. Everybody _is_ a bastard."

"That's not true at all," Prussia put in, clapping Denmark on the shoulder. "_Denmark_ is never a bastard." Then he seemed to reconsider this. "Well. Not since the late nineteenth century, anyway." The two northern nations laughed together.

Romano made a mental note to look up some of the history of Denmark and Prussia when he got home. Not that he really cared. It would just be something to pass the time.

"Whoa!" they heard Veneziano yell, ahead of them. "That's a _lot_ of bouncy houses, ve!"

Stretching out over an area the size of a sports field was a dizzying array of inflatables in all shapes and sizes. Some had slides, some had what looked like tunnels, and some were simply for bouncing. Romano was also struck dumb temporarily.

Then he regained his focus. "This is so fucking babyish. I can't believe my brother wanted to do this." Though some of them did look like fun.

"Not babyish at all, Romano!" Prussia grabbed his arm, and, distracted, Romano failed to pull away. "It's fun to let loose like this sometimes. How can it be babyish if we're all doing it together? Right, Den?"

"Right. Come on; let's go through that one that looks like a tunnel maze."

Romano slouched over behind the two more exuberant nations. "Last one through is a rotten tomato!" Prussia laughed, leaping onto the structure.

That taunt fired the Italian's blood. "_Chigi!_ You're not going to beat me, albino potato!" He pushed past Denmark and frantically began making his way through the bouncy tunnels.

"Wait for me!" Denmark called, far behind them.

"Ha ha!" Romano easily passed the potato, punching him in the arm as he passed, and stood grinning at the end of the maze until the other two caught up. "Slackers."

"That was awesome! I had no idea you could beat us. I bet I can beat you at a different one, Romano."

Denmark grinned. "Why don't we make a real bet? Every time we try a new bouncy house, we race, and then we count up whoever lost the most, and that nation buys dinner tonight?"

Prussia frowned. "I thought we'd be going to dinner with West and Veneziano. I can't afford to buy five dinners."

"Why the hell do we have to hang out with those sappy bastards? Can you afford to buy three dinners?" Romano was strangely intrigued by this bet. Besides, if it continued to be so easy to beat these two, he'd get a free dinner!

"Uh…yeah, probably. Sure! All right, Denmark, I take your awesome bet." The albino shook Denmark's hand. "What about you, Romano?"

"Sure, bastards, I'm in." He shook hands with both of them. "Which one next?"

"You won, you choose," Denmark offered graciously.

Romano scanned the field and saw a pirate ship with rope rigging. "Pirate ship? Climb up, touch the crow's nest, last one back down to the deck loses?"

"Deal!" yelled Prussia, running off.

"Hey, you stupid potato! Wait up!" Romano chased him, and Denmark chased _him._

And they were all laughing.

…

With his longer legs, Denmark swarmed to the top of the pirate ship rigging very quickly, passing both Prussia and Romano on the way. What a weird day this was turning out to be! Sure, he hadn't had a chance to talk to Prussia about dating, but this was a lot of fun. Hell, he'd waited this long, dating could wait a little longer. He slapped the crow's nest and jumped from there, bouncing onto the ship's deck well before either of the others had made it to the top of the rigging. Denmark lay there watching them climb and thought about this.

It was true he didn't know Romano very well. When he'd seen him before, it had either been with Veneziano (usually yelling) or Spain (usually drinking and yelling). He'd never seen Romano laugh before today. Okay, be fair, world meetings usually weren't very festive and fun. But if you'd asked Denmark yesterday whether he would be willing to spend a day with Romano, he'd have said "Absolutely not." Not from what little he'd known of the foul-mouthed, nasty half-nation.

Before he could think about this too much further, both Prussia and Romano reached the ship's deck, breathing heavily. "All right, fine, bastards, you got me. So I've lost one, and Denmark has lost one." He punched Prussia.

"Kesesese! Guess it doesn't matter if I can afford dinner or not, because I can't lose."

"Bastard. Denmark gets to pick the next one."

"Oh, yeah." He stood up and eyed the field. "Oh! Giant slides. Run up, slide down, come stand at the foot. Last one loses?"

Romano was already off and running.

…

"Fucking wiseass potato. You _are_ going to have to buy dinner." The brunet, triumphant, stood wheezing at the base of the giant slide with Denmark, as Prussia climbed off the inflatable and joined them.

"We're _even,_" the albino pointed out. "I'm not actually losing yet. But we should set a limit, like, each of us chooses three different ones. Because otherwise the loser will just say 'oh, one more,' and we could be here all night."

"Fine with me." Denmark, who had won this one as well, ran his hands through his hair. "Three each sounds all right. Romano?"

"Cheh, sure. Should we let the potato pick? Even though he lost?"

"Sure. Which one, Prussia?"

"Hm." He turned in place. "Oh, there's a different maze one. Want to do that? Meet at the opposite end?"

"Go!" Denmark yelled, laughing, and they all ran off.

…

"Dammit."

"Ah, calm down, Romano, you can choose the next one." Denmark felt generous.

"What the fuck else is there? Everything else looks like just a basic jumpy thing."

"Well, let's walk around; maybe there are some things we can't see from here." He put an arm around the shoulders of both Prussia and Romano (and was very surprised not to elicit either a punch or some nasty commentary from the latter) and steered them towards the second aisle of inflatables.

…

"Well, that's that, dammit," Romano scowled. They'd completed their nine races; he'd lost four, so he'd be buying dinner. But – and this was the really strange part – he _didn't even care!_ He hadn't done this kind of stuff in a long time, either. He was – maybe – almost? – thinking it was – was _fun_ to hang out with these two? Argh. Romano gave himself a mental headslap. No.

Prussia lay back on the artificial turf, wheezing a little. "Anybody seen West lately?"

Denmark, stretching, gazed around the area. "Can't see him now. Or Veneziano."

"Bastards are probably making out in a fucking inflatable," Romano growled, his good mood instantly gone.

"You can't be serious. West would never do that. He's way too uptight."

Denmark agreed. "Germany may care for your brother a lot, but…not that much!"

"Kesesese! Well, we don't have to wait around for them. Let's go get our awesome dinner." Prussia levered himself off the ground and the three of them, very tired, loped across the grass towards the entrance booths without speaking much.

As they passed through the exit door, an attendant scurried to catch them. "Oh! Excuse me, sir," she said to Prussia, handing him a piece of paper. "The tall gentleman – blond – with the cute Italian boy? – he left you this note."

Prussia took the note and pretended not to hear Romano's growling.

"What's it say?" Denmark craned his neck to read it over Prussia's shoulder.

"Hah. They got bored and left. Well, that's good; we don't have to worry about keeping up with them, or whatever. So, awesome dinner?"

"Don't make a pig of yourself, albino potato, just because I'm buying."

Denmark unlocked his car and they all got in. "You can have shotgun, Romano, since you were such a good sport today and not cranky."

"Uh. Th-thanks, bastard." Romano got into the front seat. He was still a little worried about all this, but he'd roll with it. For now.

"Where are we going to eat? Give me some directions," Denmark specified.

"Not a German restaurant!"

"Romano, are you some kind of idiot? We're in Berlin. Every restaurant is a German restaurant!" Prussia flicked him in the back of the head.

_"Chigi!"_

…

"Damn, you guys. For an impromptu day, I really had a lot of fun!"

Prussia (riding shotgun again) cackled and rubbed Denmark's hair, in the car on the way back home. "And all you were going to do was bring me my sweater. You picked an awesome day for it, my friend."

Denmark decided to keep mum about the dating thing, for today. He didn't want to make Romano uncomfortable, not when it seemed like maybe he was kind of a good guy after all, underneath all the surface nastiness. "Maybe – maybe we could all do something like this again sometime? Romano?"

"Cheh, I don't mind, as long as there are no fucking potato restaurants on the agenda." Romano grinned nastily and punched Prussia in the arm.

"Hey, I'm flexible," the albino told them. "I'd totally love to do fun things with you guys. This was a really great day!"


	37. The First Prank

**The First Prank.**

"I'm only coming because I don't want Italy turning into a fucking potato bastard playground. If I don't start with some meeting input, we're going to completely lose our national identity." Romano punched his brother in the arm; this meeting was in Florence.

"Ow, ve, well, whatever you say, Romano, but I bet you want to see your friends, too, right?"

"Just shut up!" Romano barked, storming towards the hotel conference room.

The truth was, he wasn't actually sure whether Denmark and Prussia counted as friends or not. That day with the bouncy houses had been fun, and they'd talked about doing something later, but nobody had ever called him about anything. _Chigi!_ When he thought about it, this didn't really surprise him. Nobody wanted to do shit with him these days, except the stupid tomato bastard. But he figured he could come to the meeting – which might look a little strange, but at least there was a logical reason for him to be there – and then see if those two wanted to talk, or do something together. Maybe they'd just been busy. It had only been three weeks.

Maybe the albino potato wouldn't even be here. Since he wasn't a nation. Romano slouched into the conference room.

"Kesesese! Hey, Romano! Good to see you. How have you been?" Prussia patted the empty chair next to him. Germany, Estonia and Canada were the only other countries in the room; Veneziano bounced in and headed to the top of the table, next to Germany.

Cheh. Might as well sit next to the albino potato, since he was here. "Yeah, all right, I guess."

"Come to take more of an interest in the meetings? Awesome. Just like Den said. He's pretty smart."

"He comes to the meetings, right?"

"Sure he does. He has to, not like you and me. Maybe we can all go do something after the meeting together. I haven't even talked to him since the bouncy house day."

Romano shrugged, feeling a little less irritable.

America, France and England trudged in together without talking. All three of them looked pretty pissed off. Romano tried to ignore them as more and more nations filtered in, grabbing coffee and breakfast pastries from the side table. "Isn't there any tea here?" England demanded.

"Sorry, no." Veneziano beamed.

"Bloody hell!"

"Kesesese," Prussia whispered to Romano, "don't come between that sour old man and his tea!"

Denmark and Iceland came into the room before Romano could think of any way to respond to that.

"Hey, Prussia!" Denmark immediately ditched Iceland, who went for coffee, and came to sit next to Romano. "And Romano too, cool! I was wondering if you guys would be here. Want to do something tonight?"

Romano shrugged again, trying to be nonchalant, but Prussia high-fived Denmark. "Yes. Romano and I were just talking about that."

"What should we do, though?" Denmark frowned a little, roughing up his spiky hair.

"Ah, don't worry about it, Romano can help us think of something awesome. All right?"

"Sure, bastards. Whatever."

…

They hadn't had a chance to talk all day. "Well, we can just hang out in the hotel tonight and talk about something to do tomorrow. We do have five days. Are you actually going to be here for the entire week of meetings, Romano?" Denmark smiled encouragingly.

"Cheh, yes. What would be the point of coming for only part of the week? You were right," he blushed, looking away, "I've got to stop the fucking potato bastard from taking over my country. Even if it's indirectly."

Denmark sneaked a glance at Prussia to see if this oblique insult registered, but the albino was just smiling his usual crazy smile. "Ah, come on. Let's go get something to eat."

…

In the hotel restaurant, which doubled as a bar, most of the other nations were sitting around drinking or eating. "What do you bastards want to drink?" Romano asked, heading to the bar.

"Beer!"

"What the hell, beer's good enough," Denmark laughed, handing Romano some cash. He watched the brunet walk to the bar. "Hey." He jabbed Prussia with an elbow. "Let's not get drunk tonight, all right?"

"Kesesese, we can try, but you know how we are. Even Romano, whenever I see him with my pal Spain, he's almost always drunk." There was a bowl of popcorn on the table which they began to eat.

"Well, but if he – " Denmark interrupted himself as Romano returned with their drinks. "What are _you_ drinking?"

"Club soda. I never feel right getting drunk when I'm the meeting host."

Prussia gave him a funny look. "What are you talking about? You never _are_ the meeting host."

"Shut up, albino potato." Romano punched him in the arm and drank his club soda very quickly; the other two sipped their beer. Veneziano waggled his fingers across the room at his brother, who scowled in response.

"We should play a prank on someone," Prussia then decided.

"I don't mind, but what?" Denmark loved to pull pranks.

"Cheh. First you have to figure out who you want to prank, stupid." Romano finished his drink and sat back.

"What do you mean 'who _you_ want to prank'? Aren't you going to help?" Prussia kicked him under the table.

"Yeah, come on, Romano. I bet you have some pretty good nasty ideas for pranks." Denmark grinned, and Romano smirked in response.

"Well. If I were going to prank anybody it would be the stupid tomato bastard."

Prussia looked around for Spain. "Aha, he's over with Holland."

"You mean Netherlands!" Denmark laughed.

"Yeah, but I call him Holland once in a while just because it pisses him off, kesesese."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Romano asked the air.

"Whatever, though. What kind of prank should we pull on him?" Prussia finished the popcorn in the bowl.

Romano stared at them both in astonishment. "You bastards are willing to prank Spain just because I want to do it?"

"Sure! Why not? We just have to come up with something awesome. We should probably do him and France together. They would never suspect me, kesesese, and so they would never suspect you guys, since you're sitting with me."

"All right, well, let's think."

Silence reigned as they thought.

"How are your elevators?" Denmark asked Romano.

"What? What do you mean? They're just like everybody else's elevators! What did you think, we have fucking elves pulling the ropes or something, idiot?"

This made both his friends laugh. "No, I just meant, how reliable are they? Do they ever get stuck?"

Prussia began to snicker. "You want to lock France and Spain in a broken elevator? But that won't be much of a prank. They probably wouldn't even care."

"Bastards'd be groping each other the whole time anyway," Romano agreed.

"Hmm." Denmark thought about this. "Not if there was somebody else in there with them."

"Kesesese! Then they'd just double-team the other guy!"

But Romano had a calculating look in his eye as he stared across the restaurant. "What if it was someone they were both afraid of?"

The other two swiveled their heads to check out the nation Romano had in mind. "Liechtenstein?" Denmark asked, completely puzzled.

"Switzerland!" Prussia and Romano chorused; Prussia added a flick to Den's forehead.

"Oh_. Oh!_"

The three friends put their heads together over the table, and planning began in earnest.

…

France swam up out of a drunken stupor, clutching his head and groaning. The comforting smell of tomatoes was nearby, so he knew Spain was with him; he felt the warm body in his arms. "_Merde_," he groaned aloud, trying to focus. "Where are we?"

But Spain did not respond. France squeezed a little tighter.

"Ow! Stop squeezing me!"

Oops. That wasn't Spain's voice. That was –

Switzerland sat up very quickly and reached for the gun he kept at his waist. France froze, but the holster appeared to be empty. "Where is my pistol?" The Alpine nation looked around in a panic.

France spared a moment to look, too. Spain was with them, he saw, but the brunet nation was lying on the floor, his head pillowed on an empty tequila bottle, and he was snoring. "I don't know where your pistol is, _Suisse_," France managed to croak out.

Switzerland then patted his ankle. Ankle holster? France wondered, and began panicking again.

But apparently that was empty too. "Where are all my guns?" Switzerland seemed even more frenetic than usual and started shaking France, who still wasn't thinking straight.

"I don't have your guns, _Suisse_! Stop shaking me. I'm going to be sick."

In quick succession Switzerland checked both his underarm holsters, his other ankle, and the thigh holster on his right leg, and they were all empty. "Damn it. Even my rifle is missing!"

Now that France knew Switzerland was unarmed, he was a lot less panicky. "_Suisse,_ calm down, maybe you lost them somewhere?"

"Lost them? _Lost_ them? Six pistols and a rifle? They don't just get up and walk away, you brainless idiot!" He began to throttle France, who feebly fought back, coughing.

But Spain began to stir, distracting them both. "Eh, _Francia_, what are you yelling about?" He began to sit up.

"Switzerland has lost his –" He and Switzerland both froze as Spain sat upright, revealing a small cache of firearms lying on the floor, between him and the wall.

"What the hell are you doing with my guns?" Switzerland screeched, diving for them, grabbing the nearest one, and aiming it at the ceiling. Terrified, both France and Spain covered their heads with their arms, as the Alpine nation pulled the trigger six times, rapidly.

Resulting in six quiet clicks. "Empty?" he yelled. He grabbed the rest of the pistols; after testing some more, discovering they were empty, he stood up and angrily shoved them into the appropriate holsters. Then he turned to Spain in anger. "Damn you, Spain! What have you done with all my ammunition?" He kicked the brunet.

Spain and France were wedged into the corner, holding each other, and gibbering in fear. "I don't know, _Suiza_! I don't even know how we got here! I drank too much, _amigo_," he then admitted.

"I'm not your _amigo!"_ Switzerland was still holding his Luger, and he reflexively pulled the trigger.

_BAM_. A bullet whizzed past Spain's ear and lodged itself in the wall of the elevator. Spain and France both screamed in terror.

Switzerland ignored the screams and examined the gun; his grin growing manic, he then rapidly fired off the remaining shots, as if to vent his frustration. "Tell me what happened!" he bellowed, punctuating each word with a shot to the ceiling. Plaster flakes rained down on the three nations.

"We really don't know, _Suisse_," France whimpered, and just then the elevator began to move.

"What the fuck!" Switzerland pulled the trigger again, but he was out of ammunition once more, and threw the pistol at France, who ducked; the Luger bounced off the wall and back towards the flustered Switzerland. "Why are we in an elevator? _What the hell is going on?"_

"_Francia, Francia_," Spain groaned.

Switzerland kicked him again. "Shut up."

The elevator slowed to a halt and the doors gently slid open. France and Spain scrambled to get out, to get away from Switzerland, but hastily detoured around something in the hallway.

Seeing this pile of items, Switzerland hissed, "You bastards!" He knelt to pick up his rifle and the heart-shaped pile of bullets in the middle of the hallway. "I'll get you for this, you drunken menaces!" He reloaded his Luger and took aim at France's retreating back before his cool common sense returned. Gritting his teeth, Switzerland holstered the gun, checked to make sure he had everything of his that had gone missing, and turned to find his hotel room.

But after two more steps he spun in place and fired a bullet – just one, just to calm him down – past France's ear, shattering a hall lamp. "Help!" France whined pitifully, letting go of Spain and darting down the stairwell. Spain hurried after him.

When the stairwell door had slammed shut, Switzerland put the Luger back into the holster once again and walked calmly to his hotel room, a beatific smile on his face.

...

Down in the security room, three pairs of eyes gleefully watched all this activity on the hotel's monitors. "Dammit. That was the best prank I've ever heard of. You bastards _rock_."

"That was awesome indeed, my friends."

"Cool! Let's do another one tomorrow."

...


	38. The Second Prank

**The Second Prank.**

Romano was still pretty amused about last night's prank when he came into the hotel the next day. Knowing Spain's hangovers as well as he did, the half-nation made it a point to ask the catering staff to bring extra coffee, espresso, and a bottle of aspirin to the meeting room. "Oh, and some tea, too, if we have it," he grumbled. Might as well shut the tea bastard up so he wouldn't pick on Veneziano anymore.

Once inside the meeting room he waved at his fratello, who was smarming up to the potato bastard as expected. Prussia was grinning at the world in general, so Romano walked over and sat with him. No sign of Denmark yet. "Hey, bastard," Romano said, punching Prussia in the shoulder.

"Hey yourself, kesesese. Did you see France or Spain yet today? Or Switzerland?"

"Not yet. I'm wondering if they'll even make it downstairs today. Cheh. Those stupid bastards. That was an outstanding prank."

"I'm just glad we were able to get into the security room," his friend hissed.

Denmark came in alone today and slipped into the seat flanking Romano. "Any sign of our hung-over friends yet?" he laughed.

"Not yet." But then, behind the newly-arrived England, Spain and France stumbled into the room, not quite moaning, but not as chipper as they usually were. All three of them headed towards the breakfast buffet.

"_What_?" England yelled, turning to Veneziano. "You couldn't manage tea _today_, even though I asked about it yesterday? Bloody hell."

Before Romano could say anything, two of the hotel's servers wheeled a cart into the room. Seeing Veneziano at the podium, they smiled; one girl said, "Here are the extra things you requested."

"Extra things?" North Italy asked, puzzled.

"The aspirin and extra espresso," she said, pushing the cart to the table to unload it.

"And the tea," the other girl added.

Romano shot a glance at his fratello, who was smiling at him sweetly. Ah, Romano felt pretty good today already, what the hell; he smiled brilliantly back at his brother for a second or two...

…until the barking, hoarse voice of France cried out, "Aspirin! _Mon dieu_!" He grabbed the bottle from the server and yanked the lid off, spilling aspirin into both his hand and Spain's.

"Give me some of those," Switzerland, behind him, hissed. France yelped and fumbled the bottle, spilling aspirin all over the floor.

This seemed to jerk several people to awareness. England took his tea to a seat near America; Spain fled to a chair far from Switzerland; and Denmark, Romano and Prussia all began to stifle giggles.

"Ve, everybody, please settle down! We need to start the meeting or we'll run overtime!" Veneziano tapped on the table with a pencil, which didn't do much to gain their attention.

"_Sit down and shut the hell up!_" Germany yelled, galvanizing everyone into movement.

Ten seconds later every nation in the room was seated and at attention. "Ve, thank you all," North Italy breathed. "Let's start the meeting."

…

"Who are we going to prank tonight?"

"One of you bastards can pick, since I picked Spain yesterday."

"America's always good for that sort of thing," Prussia pointed out.

Denmark scanned the room. "Where is he? He's usually with England."

All three of them looked around, but the former empire was nowhere to be seen. America, however, was seated at the bar, chatting with great animation to Japan.

"Wonder what it would be like to prank Japan?" Denmark wondered.

"What do you know about him, bastard? Since he's such good friends with your stupid brother."

"Dunno. I mean, they always go to Japan's place. West and Veneziano do, I mean. I really don't know the guy well."

"Cheh. Ignorant bastard. Why don't you pester him like you do everybody else?"

"Man, if he's anything like West, I'm not going to try to pester him! You know how fierce my brother can be."

Denmark and Romano nodded in agreement.

"Well?" the brunet then asked. "Are we going to pull a prank on America or what?"

"Sure. Let's think. What's he afraid of? Not Switzerland."

"Ghosts," Prussia nodded. "Definitely ghosts."

"Well, that's just stupid, bastard, because I'm not dressing up in a fucking sheet just to scare him!" The three friends laughed at this idea.

Denmark drank some of his drink. "Don't worry. We'll think of something good. Who's he rooming with?"

"Not Iggy; he's in with West. Maybe Japan? Romano, is there a way you can find out?"

"Cheh, yes, just sit tight, I'll be back. Anything else you want to know, stupid?"

"Yeah! Are they giving out free beer tonight? Kesesese!"

…

America wandered back to his hotel room chatting with Denmark, who was in the room next door. Surprisingly, the heroic nation been assigned a room all to himself. This was kind of depressing. He loved hanging out with his friends. But Iggy had been a real bastard to him last month, completely declining to share a room, and almost everyone else had been assigned roommates by that point. His room and Denmark's (which the Nordic nation was sharing with Greece) had connecting doors, but he wasn't close enough to either of those nations to suggest they open the connecting doors and hang out. Ah, no big deal. He could be alone for a while. He said good night to Denmark as they opened their doors.

"See you soon, America," the Dane said pleasantly.

Inside his room, America kicked off his boots and took off his bomber jacket, throwing it carelessly on a bed. A quick flick of the bedside lamp's switch helped, and he was able to putter around a little more efficiently.

Hm. Sounded like a stormy night; he could hear tree branches scratching against his hotel window. America shivered. Sometimes storms bothered him.

Wait. He was on the fourteenth floor! No trees grew that high. He shivered again and started talking to himself. It couldn't possibly be a _ghost_. "It's not a ghost," he told himself aloud. "It must just be that a tree branch _broke_, and blew up here and – landed on my balcony? And it's scratching on the window in the storm." That was bizarre, but not entirely impossible.

America was heroic; he'd deal with it. Maybe it was some kind of bird trapped on the balcony in the storm? He drew a deep breath and walked to the big sliding doors, throwing the curtains open with a big, dramatic gesture.

Huh. There was no storm. It was a clear, calm night, and the stars were bright. He forced himself to look around the balcony, but in the dark he couldn't make anything out. Maybe it had just been a passing bird that bonked into his window and flew off. Yeah.

Then he heard a moaning noise coming from _inside his room!_ "Aah!" he yelled, not quite daring to turn around. America pressed closer to the balcony doors. The dark, cold balcony doors, that had something mysterious scratching on them.

No, he had to be a man about this! Imagine if Iggy ever found out. The old man would never shut up about it. It couldn't be _moaning. _It was probably just a – a maid running a vacuum cleaner, yes, most likely.

At midnight.

America slowly turned around and glanced around the room. Nothing. Very carefully, he walked to every light switch in the place and turned it on, until his fourteenth-floor hotel room was ablaze.

As he switched on the last light, near the desk, he heard the moaning again and jumped. It – it sounded like it was coming from the bathroom.

The dark, dark bathroom.

The hero tiptoed towards the bathroom, wishing he'd kept his boots on, in case he had to flee, but too afraid to stop and put them on now, in case _something_ got him while he was doing it! "Oh," he moaned weakly, raising a fist to his mouth. Why, oh, why didn't he have a roommate to help with this?

He leapt around the corner and flicked the bathroom light switch on. "Aha!" he yelled to the obviously empty bathroom.

Okay. He'd had a lot to drink. And he'd been overdoing it with the nation work lately, he knew. This was probably all just a figment of his overworked, possibly drunk, brain. He walked back out into the main room, determined to be strong.

But he left the bathroom light on, just in case.

America then heard the scratching noise on his balcony again. "Damn it," he hissed to himself in a quavering voice, trying to sound like an angry, studly man, and failing. He sat on the bed, trying to guess what to do next.

Well, he could close the curtains. That might cut down on the noise. He slipped over to the windows and drew the curtains shut, and as he did, the moaning behind him started up again.

"Aah!" He took a flying leap into the middle of one of the hotel beds and covered himself with the quilt. This was too scary!

Nothing happened for several minutes. Tentatively he peeked his blond head out from the quilt; the room was just as before: empty, and very brightly-lit. With another deep breath, America pushed the quilt away. He knew he was just imagining things. If there had been something on the balcony, it wouldn't have randomly stopped. It would have kept scratching.

Now he wondered whether there was someone in the hallway moaning. Maybe a drunken nation? Probably. But did he dare to look?

Of course he did! He was Alfred F. Jones, the hero, the United States of America! He jumped off the bed and strode manfully towards the door, flinging it open with a forced grin.

The hallway was empty.

Behind him, America heard the scratching at the window. He slammed the door shut and pressed his fist to his mouth again. Then he backed up until the hotel room door was flush up against his back – so nothing – nobody – could sneak up on him. "Haha," he tried to laugh, to man up, but it came out as a weak, frightened gasp.

But this was ridiculous. He could see the room was totally empty, except for him, and he was big and strong and could handle anybody.

Except _ghosts._

He heard the moaning one more time, a little louder, and it was right in his room, he knew it. Oh, what to do, what to do?

Suddenly there was a fierce rattling from the balcony. Like something was shaking the doors, trying to get in! America didn't care if he had boots on or not, if Iggy found out later or not, but he _had to get out of this room!_ He opened the door and ran out into the still-empty hallway. What should he do? Well, first he needed to trap the – the _thing_, so he slammed shut the door to his room.

Ah – Denmark! Denmark was probably still awake; he'd let him in. He scooted over and hammered on the Dane's hotel room door. "Denmark, Denmark, it's me, America, please let me in! Please!"

Denmark opened the door with a pleasant grin, which faded as America scrambled into the room. "What's the matter with you, America?" He walked back to the desk, where he'd apparently been looking up sightseeing information.

America stood quaking and wheezing for a moment, holding up his hand for silence. Denmark sat at the desk and waited.

Just then Romano came in through the connecting door. "Hey, Den," he said nonchalantly, grinning. "Oh! Hi, America. How are you, bastard?"

"T-t-t-terrible," America moaned. "I think there was a gh-gh-ghost on my b-b-b-balcony. Or – or in my _room_!"

"Here, sit down." Denmark led him to the bed and America sat down, trying to get a grip. Romano got him a glass of water, but his hand was shaking so much he dropped it; the brunet picked up the glass with a shrug and put it away.

Prussia, dressed in a black overcoat with a black knit hat on, wandered in from the balcony holding a long-handled umbrella. "America! Kesesese! What are you doing here?"

…

_I don't know why I'm in flashback mode this week._

_Well, yes, I do. I'm looking for delaying tactics so I don't have to write that LA vacation. But I'll get to it eventually._

_I'm thinking of the newer kind of connecting doors, where each room has its own door, with a gap of about 12" of dead space between the two. Not the kind where there's only one door between the rooms._


	39. Denmark Makes His Move

_Still in flashback mode. Not much Romano in this one. Sorry._

…

**Denmark Makes His Move.**

"Well, damn, that was actually a pretty interesting week of meetings," Denmark said, punching Prussia.

"Pretty interesting week of _pranks_," the albino countered in a low tone, since Switzerland was nearby. "Let's get together and do something soon."

"Sure, bastards. Just give me a call. I – I had fun, too," Romano admitted with a blush, turning away and scrubbing his hand over his face.

"Kesesese! All right, we'll see you!" Prussia and Denmark moved to Denmark's car as Romano headed back into the hotel. "Thanks for offering me a ride, Den. It beats having to sit in a car with West and listen to his annoying lectures the whole way back."

Denmark patted him on the hair. "Always happy to spend time with the Awesome Prussia."

"Aw. You really are too good to me."

Denmark put the car in gear and drove off. He figured he'd wait a little while before asking Prussia for a date. The drive was long, and if Prussia said no –

"So anyway," the albino said, looking out the window, "we should think of something fun to do with Romano again, but not at a meeting. Maybe go out drinking sometime, or to a club."

"Sure." Well, what the hell, he figured. "You know, I wouldn't mind hanging out with you, without Romano, once in a while."

"What? Den, that's super harsh. I know Romano's a bit of a bastard, but – but –"

Oops. Denmark hadn't realized that's how his comment would come across. "Uh, I, I didn't mean it that way."

"What, then? Oh! You want to go out on a date with me? Kesesese!" Prussia began laughing. "Man, I wish."

The blond was struck dumb. Apparently Prussia felt a bit embarrassed about what he'd said, because he stopped laughing, blushed, and turned to look out the window again.

"Uh, well, yeah," Denmark replied, feeling kind of lame, but not sure how to get the conversation back on track.

"Yeah what? You _do_ want to go out on a date with me?" Prussia turned back in astonishment.

"Well, yes! I've been trying to find the right time to ask you since, oh, probably around the time you lost your nation status. But you're always hanging out with so many other friends, I wasn't sure I should even bother asking."

"Friends, hah. You heard what I said. I pester them so they don't forget me."

Now Denmark was irritated. Was Prussia going to answer him or not? Before he could work himself into anger, the albino turned to him with a soft smile. "You surprise me a lot, Denmark. I'd be very happy to go on a date with you." Then in his normal tone of voice: "_Lots_ of dates! Kesesese! It would be super fun to go out with you." He clapped his hands together.

The Dane felt as if he were riding some kind of emotional roller coaster. "Prussia, you – you drive me nuts," he laughed.

His friend's face fell. "Does that mean you don't really want to date me?"

"Are you only saying yes so that I don't forget about you? Like you pester everybody else? Or would you really want to go out, be boyfriends, and all that?"

"Huh. I didn't even think of doing it just to pester you. I've been attracted to you for a long time, but you were always with Norway! If you're not going to get back together with him, I'd totally date you, be your boyfriend, or whatever. You're the most fun nation in Europe."

Denmark looked taken aback. "You're serious?"

"Well, Iggy has his moments, but they're pretty few and far between; he's so sour most of the time. Yes. It's definitely you."

"This is the weirdest conversation I've ever had."

"Tell me about it!"

They drove in silence for quite a while; Denmark thought about all this. It wasn't the romantic scenario he'd envisioned, but perhaps driving a car precluded any real romance. "Uh…so are we dating now, or what?"

"Kesesese! Yes, let's. But – but there is something I'd like to ask. A favor." Prussia turned serious.

"You can ask me any favor you want!" Denmark ruffled his hair.

"Well. I – I really do want to go out with you, Den, to be your boyfriend and all that, but – I think we should keep it secret for a little while."

"What? Why?" Was Prussia too embarrassed to be seen with him?

"Well. You know, I really like hanging out with you and Romano together now. You know? We have a lot of fun, a lot more fun than I would have expected. I mean, I would have expected to have fun with _you_ in any case, but it – it's kind of surprising to think about having fun with the vicious little – bastard. About him relaxing like that around us." He chuckled. "And we haven't all been hanging out for very long. If we start dating, it might – might make him upset, because he'd feel like the third wheel. And I don't want him to feel bad. And I don't want him to stop doing stuff with us just because he feels that way." Prussia nodded.

"That's surprisingly empathetic of you."

"That's how I feel around West and Veneziano," the albino admitted with a shrug. "What I mean is, even though I wouldn't really choose to hang out with them, the three of us end up doing a lot of things together, and _I_ always feel like the third wheel with _them_. I think Romano does too, when he's with them. It would totally suck to have him feel that way about you and me."

"I agree," Denmark said. "You're a lot more thoughtful than you let on."

"Hah. There's a lot about me I don't share with the public."

Denmark pulled the car over to the side of the road.

"What? Den, what's wrong? Is something wrong with the car? What happened?"

Prussia in a panic was very funny. Denmark laughed at him a little. "Come here," he said, beckoning his friend closer.

"Aha!" the albino crowed, leaning over. They shared a quick kiss, in Denmark's car, on the side of the road. "Aw. You really are so sweet. You just couldn't wait to kiss me, right? Kesesese!"

"Idiot. I've wanted you for a long time, too, but we were always at war." He moved the car into traffic. "Want to stay over tonight?"

"Yeah! Awesome. Take me home first so I can pack a bag. And we should get some cupcakes."

"It's going to be tough to keep this a secret," Denmark then confessed. "I want to tell everybody."

"Eh. Save it. You can pour sweet nothings into my ear all night."

"Yeah, that'll work. Cool."

They drove off towards Berlin.

…

_I really, really tried to make this sweet and romantic! But…I failed. _


	40. The Beginning

_If you want the backstory of England and Romano in this universe, it's in a separate story called "Kissing Lessons." I'm not going to repeat that part in flashbacks here. There is also a sort-of sequel to this and "Kissing Lessons" called "Love in the Modern World," which focuses on the Engmano relationship in this universe but does have DenPru and general Skirmish Brothers stuff sprinkled throughout._

_I think there will be one more flashback after this._

…

**The Beginning.**

"I do love your place, Den. Could we have a fire tonight?"

Denmark looked at his new boyfriend in surprise. "It's _May._ Why do you want a fire?"

"Oh." Prussia's face fell. "Yeah, I wasn't thinking about that. I just – well – fires are so romantic, you know, to cuddle up and…eat our cupcakes, kesesese."

"We can go sit on the back deck? Nice sunsets out there. Pretty romantic, and I have a big deck chair we could sit on together."

Prussia immediately swanned his way across the room and pressed right up against Denmark. "Excellent idea, Den," he murmured seductively, with a subtle grin. "Don't forget the beer."

Denmark pecked a kiss on his lips. It was too strange to talk about dating while they were simultaneously discussing beer and cupcakes! "Once again your commitment to romance amazes me. Go sit on the deck. I'll bring everything out."

"Awesome!"

…

Denmark was going to force Prussia to calm down tonight. He completely understood the albino's nature, having known him for so long, and he knew that all this random, high-spirited, _non-romantic_ chitchat was simply the way he was. But it was indeed a nice night, and tonight he was going to make Prussia calm down, snuggle up, and…drink beer with cupcakes. Denmark snorted, but brought the things to the back deck.

Prussia grinned up at him from the two-man deck chair. "I like this chair, Den. We don't have any like this. Come and sit!"

Denmark sat, handing his friend the bag of cupcakes and wrapping his arm around Prussia's shoulders. "Soon be sunset," he murmured with a grin, lips brushing the white hair.

Prussia unwrapped a cupcake, and Denmark rolled his eyes. All right. The romance would have to wait. He let go and reached for the beer, opening one each for them. "Awesome," Prussia sighed again, taking a bottle and leaning back against the seat. "Share my cupcake with me, Den."

Surprised, the tall blond smiled and then quickly leaned in, keeping his eyes on Prussia's, and took a bite, licking his lips afterwards. "Hey, these aren't bad," he realized, surprising himself.

"Told you! Cherry cupcakes are excellent with lager." Prussia ate and drank.

Denmark tried some lager to wash down the cupcake. It was somewhat weird. "You really have this all the time? It's a bizarre combo." Damn it, he was getting distracted again.

"Ach, no. West thinks it's too weird, so he won't let me get cupcakes very often. I tried baking them a couple times, but…I guess I've been hanging around Iggy too much; my baking skills suck. So most of the time I just have beer, and daydream about cupcakes. Thanks, Den. It's really good of you to indulge me this way." He took Denmark's near hand and lifted it to his lips for a kiss.

Well. Maybe Denmark wouldn't have to do much forcing. But sitting there with a beer in one hand and Prussia in the other, as it were, wasn't quite the vision he'd had. He set the bottle on the little deck table and put his arms around Prussia. "I don't mind indulging you in the matter of cupcakes," he grinned, "or even cupcakes and beer together. I told you, I've wanted to be with you for a long time, and I'm glad we finally worked it out."

"Oh, me too, Den," Prussia said happily, snuggling up close, lifting his arms to wrap them around Denmark's neck. "Me too."

As their lips met, Denmark thought that maybe cupcakes and beer was a taste worth acquiring.

…

_I'm sorry! This really seems to be the best I can do for these two. Prussia is just too un-romantic, and Denmark is too accommodating to him. I'm sure in their private moments they'll be romantic together. Eventually._

_You know, I'm not even sure whether 2-man deck chairs exist, but if they don't, someone needs to invent them. _


	41. Sowing Good Karma

_Last flashback. No in-person Romano, although almost everyone is thinking about him in one way or another. Kesesese._

…

**Sowing Good Karma.**

_I've Got the World on a String. (_Frank Sinatra, 1953)

"Hello, sweetie," Prussia said, climbing into Denmark's car and giving him a nice sweet kiss. "Miss me?"

Denmark grinned. "How could I miss you? I just saw you yesterday, you know."

"Well, but still." The albino buckled his seat belt. "Let's go! This is going to be so much fun. I hope Iggy's in a good mood. It's forever since we went drinking with him."

"Did you call Romano?"

"Yeah, but nobody answered. Too bad, because he really is a lot of fun when we're together! Maybe he's got caller ID and thought it was West. Ah, don't worry about it. We can call him next weekend."

Denmark drove off. The Fail Brothers were meeting in a club in Brussels tonight for some long-overdue drinking. All three of them were looking forward to it.

"So, anything exciting happen since yesterday?" Prussia asked, putting his feet up on the dashboard.

"Don't mess up my car! No. Nothing exciting. Why? Something exciting happen to you?"

"Nope. Well, except that we decided to go drinking, but you knew about that. I've never been to this club. Have you?"

"Yeah, once, couple years ago, with Sweden and Finland. Man, that was a night. I drank so much…got in a fight with Sweden. Well, I say a fight. I fought. He just sat there."

"Kesesese! Wish I could have seen that."

"Hah. If he's there tonight, I'll pick another fight, just for you, all right? How's that?"

Prussia pinched his cheek. "Denmark, you are the absolute best."

…

_Savoy Truffle. _(The Beatles, 1968)

England was already at a table with ale in front of him when they found him. "Hey, man," Denmark said, sliding into the other side of the booth. Prussia slipped into the seat next to the island nation, giving him a one-armed hug.

"Hey," he said. "Thought you gits wouldn't show."

"Iggy! You can't possibly be drunk already."

England snorted. "You're right, I can't possibly be. Get me another drink." He waved the waitress over. "Vodka tonic," he said.

"Yeah, same all around." Denmark pulled out his wallet.

When they all had new drinks in hand, Prussia raised his glass in a toast. "Nice to see you, my awesome friends. Been too long."

"Amen," England said, downing most of his drink in one go.

"Wow. Nation work getting you down?" Den asked him.

"No. Just – just feeling bloody depressed, that's all."

"Don't be depressed. Drink some more."

"Hah. Right, like that's going to help." England polished off the rest of the drink and leaned back against the booth seat. "What have you two been up to? Saw you all sneaking around at that last meeting together, with – with – ah, with R-Romano," he said weakly, picking up the empty glass and trying to slurp up the last few drops.

"Kesesese! Yeah, we're all right. I've been teaching Den about the power of cherry cupcakes."

England choked on his drink. "You've got to be joking. Don't do it, Denmark. The wanker tried to get me to do that cupcakes-and-lager thing once and I was ill for a whole bloody week."

But Denmark laughed at him and ruffled his hair across the table. "Don't worry. I think it's a pretty delicious combo."

The island nation gave him a disbelieving stare, and Prussia laughed and hugged him again. "Drink up, Iggy. West gave me a bunch of money, so I'll treat."

"Does he know what you're doing tonight?"

"Huh, I hope not. If he finds out I blew the wad on booze he'll kill me."

England burst into raucous laughter.

"What's the matter with you? It wasn't that funny!"

The blond raised a hand and pointed across the bar, where Germany and Veneziano sat cuddled together. Denmark started laughing, too.

"Damn." Prussia tried to crouch down in the seat and hide, which just made his two companions laugh even more.

"Don't worry about it, git. I can afford my own drinks." England waved to the waitress again.

"My awesome friend," Prussia announced, wrapping his arm around England's shoulders again, "will _you_ pay for _my_ drinks?"

…

_Just What I Needed. _(The Cars, 1978)

"So what's been going on with you gits? Anything fun?"

"Ah, well, nothing to speak of," Denmark said hastily, ordering a round of beers. "Weather's been nice."

"Too bad summer's over," Prussia sighed. "We didn't spend enough time at the beach this year."

Denmark agreed, but England was now listening to the music, tapping his fingers on the table. "Uh, are you seriously all right, England?"

"What? What?" The island nation turned his attention back to his friends. "I'm fine! What the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"Well, nothing, I guess. You seem really out of it."

"Kesesese! He still hasn't had enough to drink!" The waitress brought their drinks. "Drink up, Iggy."

"Don't call me Iggy," he grumbled, but drank.

"This band isn't bad." Denmark set his bottle aside and turned in the booth to look at said band. "I mean, they're not as good as we are, but…" He hummed along with the song.

"Nobody's as good as we are, Den." Prussia blew him a kiss, and then seemed to remember that this violated his 'don't let them know we're dating' rule. He hurriedly bent his face towards the beer bottle on the table and Denmark laughed at him, because England hadn't even been paying attention.

"Should we go up there and play something?" the Dane then asked.

"Nah. I don't feel like it, somehow." England pushed his glass around on the table.

"How much have you been drinking, anyway?"

"Not that much, wanker. Shut it."

"Whatever you say, whatever you say."

…

_Lonely in Your Nightmare. _(Duran Duran, 1982)

"Let's go dance." Prussia tugged on the morose England's arm.

"You go. Let me drink."

"Kesesese! You're going to be in big trouble tomorrow! Come on, Den, let's go dance."

"Why the hell not," Denmark sighed, and they got up to dance; England ordered himself another drink.

"He's in a weird mood," Prussia noted, before they reached the dance floor.

Denmark was thoughtful. "Yeah. Uh, hey – better watch out, Germany's looking this way."

"No problem. He won't care if I'm here, as long as he doesn't think I'm spending all his money. Come on." The music changed to a lively, fast song, and they began headbanging together, waving at Germany and Veneziano, and sometimes at the unseeing England.

…

_Everybody Hurts. _(R.E.M., 2003)

When they got back to the table their friend was resting his chin on its top, drawing circles in spilled beer with his finger. "Hi," he said morosely.

"Man, Iggy, are you going to be like this all night? It's _hours_ to closing time!" Prussia pointed out.

"Eh."

"This sucks. I'm going to go get us some drinks." The albino loped off to the bar.

"Seriously, man, what's with you?" Denmark was somewhat concerned. Sure, England had his down days, but normally at a bar he'd be drinking and whooping it up with his friends, making a ruckus; tonight all he'd seemed to do was mope.

"Eh." Keeping his chin on the table, he turned his big green eyes to his taller friend. "Only I have a crush on somebody and I don't know what to do about it." Then he blushed and rested his forehead on the table.

Denmark blinked. He hoped it wasn't _him_ – or Prussia! He asked about this and received a derisive snort in response. The waitress brought some drinks. "Courtesy of your pale friend," she laughed, walking away.

Their conversation was interrupted by the band's singer, who announced, "I'd like to turn over the microphone to some of our awesome guests." England and Denmark swiveled to face the stage, where Prussia and Veneziano were gleefully waving to everyone ("everyone" meaning mostly Germany, Denmark and England).

"Bollocks, now what." England knocked back his drink.

"Nobody ever knows what he's thinking," Denmark agreed. Well – _he_ did, of course, now that he and Prussia were dating, but he wasn't going to tell England that. Especially with the island nation being in the grip of some sad romance drama. "Tell me about your crush." He tried to be cheerful, to pull England out of his doldrums.

"I don't know," the shorter blond moaned. "I just don't know what to do about it. Don't know if I should do _anything_ about it. He's always so – " Here he seemed to catch himself and stopped talking, trying to get more liquor out of his empty glass. "And I'm so –"

Prussia and Veneziano began singing a cappella. "In Hell…all the cooks would be British…"

England snorted, but didn't speak, half listening and half daydreaming. Denmark listened to the song, idly wondering whether Germany felt that his lover Veneziano was heavenly. This made him chuckle a little; luckily England wasn't paying attention, or he might have taken offense.

Of course, Veneziano had a brother. Denmark idly wondered whether _he_ was heavenly; this made him laugh out loud. Romano might be fun, might be an effective prankster, but…heavenly? The Heavenly Bastard! He laughed again.

"What are you laughing at, git?" England put his head down on the table.

"Nothing. Sorry." Poor England. He always found it hard to get together with others, being an island nation. Too bad, because he really was a lot of fun when they got together. Well, usually.

"Now what?"

"Ah – ah – " An idea was blossoming in Denmark's mind.

No, it would never work. Both of them were too uptight.

But if it _could_ work –?

He could make it work! Couldn't he? Well, he could certainly give them a push in the right direction. "You, ah," he started, not quite sure how to phrase it. "You aren't comfortable with, ah, romance?"

"Eh. Don't really have a lot of experience with it."

"All your lovers will be Italian! Wahoo!" Veneziano shouted on the stage, jumping to hug Prussia, who spun him around, grinning. Denmark spared a quick second to look at Germany, who was hiding his face in his hands. Ha ha.

"Why don't you take romance lessons from somebody?" Denmark flagged down the waitress again and ordered six drinks. Might as well. It would save a little time.

"_Romance_ lessons? You mean like sex?" England raised his head in disbelief and wrinkled his nose. "How bloody idiotic." Then he put his chin back on the table and hiccupped.

"That's not what I meant at all. I meant learning to be a gallant lover. Someone your crush will appreciate." He watched his friend out of the corner of his eye.

"Where the hell would I learn something like that? And, and," he continued weakly, pathetically, "you don't think I'm sk-skilled enough to manage it myself?" He drummed his fingers on the table.

"If you're moping around like this over your 'crush,' then maybe you _aren't_ skilled enough. But you know, I bet Romano could help."

England's fingers paused fractionally in their drumming but started up again immediately. "Why him?" he asked, after a beat.

"Why not him?" He pointed to the stage, where Veneziano and Prussia were waving to the crowd, having finished their duet. "He's an expert, right? 'All your lovers will be Italian'? I bet he kisses like a demon." Denmark actually grinned at that, but England still wasn't looking at him.

"Eh." Hiccup.

"So, I'll tell you what. Romano and I have gotten to be pretty good friends lately. Why don't I take you over to his place on Saturday and maybe he can give you some pointers about what to do?"

"_Denmark_…"

"I'm being serious here. It might help, right? Probably couldn't hurt. So, are we on for Saturday?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Romance lessons with Romano!" He beamed, and England looked up again.

"Whatever…" The island nation's voice drifted off and he closed his eyes. "Here comes the bloody albino nuisance."

Denmark decided not to mention this to Prussia. If it backfired, he certainly didn't want to take the blame.

…

_Feel Good Inc. _(Gorillaz, 2006)

"Come on, Iggy, don't be so sour. Come and dance with me."

England raised his head from the table and smiled sweetly. "Sure, git. I don't mind at all." The two of them went to the dance floor, waving at Germany and Veneziano on the way, and began jumping around.

Denmark put his chin in his hand, smiling fondly at his dancing friends. Wouldn't it be great if his idea worked?

Sure it would.


	42. Going to California

**Going to California.**

"Hey! Hi!" Prussia hurried across the aisle to the gate, where Denmark and Romano were already seated. "How are you guys?" He dropped his carry-on and bent to hug them both. "I'm glad you didn't pick me up today, Den; I was a mess, couldn't get my right wardrobe packed, nothing. West is really pissed off, kesesese. But I'm glad I had my cool free Danish suitcase! The wheels made it really easy to maneuver. I must have been the last nation in the world who didn't have a wheeled suitcase. Thanks, Den. Where's Arthur? I'm so excited. This is going to be an excellent vacation! You guys want any coffee? I'm going to go get some."

He paused for breath and Romano jumped into the gap. "Shut up."

Denmark laughed at them both. "I can see this is going to be a hell of a vacation already." He stood up and gave Prussia a proper hug. "I'm glad you got here okay, West or no West."

"No West is better," the brunet mumbled, just loud enough for them to pretend to ignore him.

"Come with me, Den, I'll get coffee. Romano, you want anything?"

"Sure, bastard. Bring me an espresso."

"That's _it?_ No iced extra hot peppermint foam whip stuff?" Prussia poked him. "They have a cool new one, Mocha Cookie Crumble Frappuccino."

"No, dammit! Just a plain espresso, all right? No. Make it a double. I'm going to need it." He clutched his head.

"Okie dokie! We'll be right back." The albino dragged Denmark off by an arm, leaving Romano staring after them in irritation.

"Nobody else here yet?" he heard from behind him. Ah. It was England.

"Went for coffee. Hi."

"Hi," the blond smiled, sitting in the chair next to him and trying to snuggle up as he dropped his carry-on.

"Get off me, bastard. Not in public! Everybody's driving me nuts today."

"Don't be angry. We have three whole weeks together; don't start the trip off in a bad mood."

"Do _not_ remind me. I'm already reconsidering. If I leave now I can probably get most of a refund." He turned and looked at England who was staring at him in shock. Romano smiled and patted his cheek. "Kidding, kidding. I still want to spend time with you, even if the stupid albino potato makes me nuts."

"Well, if things get too bad, we can send them off somewhere and go somewhere else together."

"You said that at the fucking amusement park, and look how that turned out."*

Both of them sat lost in memories for a few moments, until the sound of Prussia's voice broke into their privacy. "Arthur! Nice to see you!" He almost dropped the coffee as he hurried over to hug the island nation.

"Lucy," England acknowledged, taking the cup from him and drinking some. "Ta."

"Hey! Hey!" Prussia freaked out. Romano and Denmark started laughing hysterically at him, until he pointed out, "That was Romano's drink."

Now he and Denmark laughed at the brunet's irritated expression. England quickly handed him the cup. "Sorry."

"Drink it, bastard. I'll go get my own."

"Want company?"

"Sure. Watch our stuff, all right?" Romano appealed to Denmark.

"Yes, all right. Go. Get enough coffee to put you in a better mood!"

…

There was still another hour to go before boarding. "No Gilbird?" Denmark suddenly wondered.

"Ah, no. America's rules about foreign pets are too uptight. I talked to him about it, and he said he might be able to make an exception, but it seemed like too much hassle, so West and Veneziano are going to take care of him for me."

"He'll be in good hands with my fratello."

"I know. Gilbird loves him just as much as you love me."

Romano startled everyone by taking Prussia's face in both hands, smiling evilly, and announcing, "You are so right_,_ Prussia, I love you so much that I can't think about _anything else_." Leaning in slowly as if for a kiss, while the other three sat disbelieving, he instead bit the albino on the nose, laughing and letting go of him.

"Ow! Romano, you maniac! What kind of idiot bites people on the nose?" Prussia checked for damage.

"Just trying to shut you up, albino potato. Drop the stupid catchphrase."

Denmark leaned over and stage-whispered into Prussia's ear, "Want me to kiss it better?"

"Kesesese!"

The Dane pecked a tiny little kiss on the injured nose.

"Cheh. I'm out of coffee. Come get some with me, bastard. I have to take the potato taste away."

"Yes, all right. You gits want anything?"

"An ice pack," Prussia moaned desperately, but he was grinning.

"Nothing for me, thanks."

…

"So, Arthur, I have a question for you." Prussia rummaged in his carry-on and drew out a notebook and pencil.

"Sure, what?"

The albino flipped to a clean page and began sketching something. Denmark and Romano craned their necks to see what he was doing. "So, you all know we were working on finding me a new motto and superhero name." He didn't wait for an answer; it was just as well, because the other three tried to ignore that. "Well, I thought about it a lot when I was alone, and it's just too difficult." He kept sketching. "All I could think of was Potato Boy and The Albino Wanker, and those won't work."

"Sounds like some lame crimefighting team, though. Your stupid bastard of a brother could be Potato Boy and you could be his sidekick, the Albino Wanker."

"Shut up." Denmark reached around Prussia to poke Romano. "I want to hear this."

"Well, anyway," Prussia continued, still sketching, "you two were really awesome that day, trying to help me think of the name or motto, so I started thinking about that. We already have our team name, so I designed a flag for us."

"Uh-oh," Romano laughed. "Let me guess. Black and white with Gilbird in the middle."

"Ha! Well, you're close, my friend." He held up the sketch pad to show a rough drawing of a tricolor like Italy's. "But that Gilbird-in-the-middle idea is pretty awesome." He tapped the pencil against his teeth, thinking.

"That's just the Italian flag, though," Denmark pointed out. "How does that help?"

"Don't be silly, Den. It's the Skirmish Brothers flag! Look. If the first part was black, instead of green, then we have a black band, because there's black in the Prussian flag. And then the center part is white; we all have white in our flags. And the third part is red, because you and Romano both have red in your flag! Right? Isn't that the most awesome way it should be?"

The others thought about this. "I guess that's actually pretty sensible," Romano finally conceded, "_if, _and I do mean if, there was any reason for us to have our own flag!" He snorted. "What would we do with a flag? Fly it over my house whenever you guys stay over?" This made him laugh.

But Prussia ignored that and kept sketching. "And then we could put Gilbird in the middle, like an emblem; you're brilliant, Romano."

"Cheh. I know."

"And what does this have to do with me?" England asked.

"I'm getting to that. Now, the flag was just an idea. A concept. I don't really think we actually need to have our own flag, an actual flag, right? So I thought about other things we could have, or use, that had our flag design. And this is where Arthur's awesome knitting skills come in."

"I'm not knitting you a bally flag."

"I told you, I don't want a real flag!" He handed England the note pad. "Could you make us all hats like this?"

England studied the design. "What's with all the little dots all over it?"

"Beads! Gold beads. I love gold and I know you can get yarn with beads on it, right? So…you could use the bead yarn to make it, to give it that extra bit of awesome bling."

"You're joking," Romano said. "You want us all to wear matching hats? With _beads on them? _ That's the gayest thing I ever heard of. You are joking, right?"

"Not joking at all. Anyway, we don't have to all wear them when we're all together. I just meant so we have them, to think of each other when we're _not_ together."

"Why would I want to think about you when I don't have to be with you?" The brunet poked him.

Denmark hadn't been paying attention to this little bit of by-play, and he now reached for the note pad, which England handed over. "This is kind of creative," he admitted. "But this hat is too girly."

"Let me see," Romano said, grabbing the book. The three of them put their heads together over the design; England ignored them and drank his coffee. "Give me the pencil, bastard."

When he had the pencil in hand, Romano quickly sketched a manlier hat style, maintaining the flag colors. "There. This is better. How about this one, bastard?" He handed the book back to England, who shrugged.

"Turning this design into a hat is not a problem, you know. I've got the skills. What I want to know is, who's going to pay for the ruddy yarn?"

"Italian yarns are the best."

England poked his boyfriend. "I know. I've been knitting with Italian yarns for eighty years."

"Does it make a difference on price?" Denmark was not familiar with needlework.

"Well, yes, git! If you want cotton it's a lot cheaper than cashmere."

"_Cashmere!_" Prussia yelled, gaining the attention of a lot of other travelers at the gate. "Oh, man, Iggy, a cashmere hat with beads would be like – like – the height of elegance." He sighed. "Like a tiara, but better. And – and you could knit a little Gilbird instead of a pompom!"

Romano rolled his eyes, but England snapped, "I'm not going to knit it if you keep calling me _Iggy_."

"Arr-thurrr," Prussia then purred. "My dearest, most talented Arthur…could you knit us cashmere hats?"

"I still want to know who's paying for the yarn. And another thing. If I knit each of you a hat, what's in it for me? Can't I put some blue in this hat for me? Blue's the only thing in my flag that isn't already on this hat."

Everyone looked at Prussia, since this was his idea.

"Well," he said slowly, "if you put some blue on it, that means that you have all three of your flag colors in the hat. And if I have the gold beads on it, that means I have all my flag colors in the hat. And Den only has red and white in his flag. Which means that technically, Romano is – is – well, there's no green in the hat, so Romano wouldn't have a full flag effect, but everybody else would."

Romano sulked.

"Pouty wanker. All right, I won't put any blue on the hat. Maybe I'll put little teacups on top instead of a pompom."

"Don't put a teacup on my hat, Ethel," Denmark laughed. "Don't. In fact, don't put any pompom thing on mine. Just a plain hat, no beads, the design that Romano drew. All right?"

"Same for me, bastard."

"Well? Who's buying the yarn?"

The Skirmish Brothers shared a glance. "Do we really want cashmere?" Denmark asked.

"Oh, Den, you have no idea." The albino's eyes glazed over. "West has a pair of cashmere gloves. Sometimes in the winter, when I'm alone, I put them on and –"

"Shut up, shut up!" Romano yelled. "I don't want to hear this, I really don't."

"Fine. Anyway, I was just going to say I wear them when I drink beer, so my hands don't get cold from the bottle. They really are nice." He smirked at Romano and drank some coffee.

England was still staring at the drawing. "Right. Well, I'll need about a hundred pounds to make these properly."

"_What?_" Prussia nearly dropped the cup. "Why so much?"

"Chigi! You think cashmere grows on fucking trees, you idiot? It's expensive! And – and England is right, he shouldn't have to pay for the yarn to make us hats." Romano blushed.

"Kesesese. Well, a hundred pounds is a lot of money."

"Not really," Denmark realized. "Not if you divide it by three hats. You'd pay thirty-five pounds for a handknit cashmere hat with beads, right?"

"What's that in Euros, bastard?"

Denmark laughed at him. "I can't believe you've been dating England for so long and you can't remember the conversion rate!"

"Eh, it's about one to one right now, git. Maybe a little more in Euros. Except that if I add the beads, that makes it pricier. Maybe, oh, a hundred and sixty pounds? Er - well, that's if I did all three hats with beads. If I only needed to make Gilbert's hat with beads, then maybe a hundred and twenty?"

"Yikes. Maybe forget about the beads," Prussia conceded.

"Whatever happened to your fucking casino money?" Romano wondered. "Can't you pay twenty extra Euros for beaded yarn?"

"Oh! I totally forgot. Yes, I can, my awesome friend with an awesome memory. I invested it all and I have a bundle."

"Ha, then you can pay for _all_ the yarn!" The brunet poked him.

"Just wait," England interrupted. "I don't have any of my knitting stuff with me anyway. If we see a yarn store while we're on vacation, you can pick out the yarn there, and I'll get some needles. Otherwise we can worry about this when we get back. Is that all right?"

"How long does it take to knit a hat?" Denmark wondered.

"Two days, tops, unless I get distracted by somebody." He nudged Romano.

"Oh. So even if you don't start them until we get back, you could still get them done by winter."

"Sure. In fact it will give me something to work on while you lot are on your cruise and I'm at home alone, moping."

Romano patted England's shoulder in commiseration; Prussia leaned over and blew the island nation a kiss.

"Boarding is now beginning for our flight to Los Angeles," the announcer boomed. The travelers sat up straight and prepared their gear for boarding.

"This is going to be the best vacation ever," Prussia sighed, and his smiling friends nodded in agreement.

…

_* The amusement park is in "Love in the Modern World," chapters 37-42._

_I'm in the middle of designing and knitting this hat. With beads._


	43. Hooray for Hollywood!

**Hooray for Hollywood!**

Romano threw his suitcase on the hotel bed. "Dammit. I really hate those long flights." Twelve hours in the air would take its toll on anyone.

"Well, at least we're here to stay for a while. We're not doing some drive-around-the-ruddy-country kind of trip where we have to change hotels all the time." England took his trainers off and lay down; Romano began unpacking. "This is a pretty sweet hotel. I didn't know America had these kinds of mod-con places. But I suppose if he had them anywhere, it would be in Hollywood."

There was a loud pounding and shaking at the connecting door. "Hey, Romano! Open up!" they heard Prussia yell.

"Shit." But he opened the door. "Not so loud, bastard. It's bedtime."

Prussia ignored him. "Awesome! We have a connecting door!" He danced through the open door with Denmark right behind him.

"Just don't try any of that ghost shit, bastards. You know I won't fall for it."

"Kesesese!" Prussia picked him up for a hug; Romano pushed him away.

"Ghost shit?" England asked. "Do I even want to know?"

"Oh, man, Arthur, it was so impressive. We were at a meeting a long time ago and we played an awesome ghost prank on America."

Denmark flopped onto the bed next to England. "Yeah. Prussia stood on the balcony and scratched at his window with an umbrella, and Romano stood at the connecting door and made moaning noises."

"The bastard was totally freaked out," Romano remembered.

But to their surprise England jumped up with a fierce scowl on his face. "You _tossers!_ That was you? Bloody hell, I should have guessed."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Romano asked calmly.

"That wanker whinged to me for an entire month about that bloody ghost. He blamed it all on me, because I'd refused to room with him that time. Good God, that boy can whine." He kept scowling, but the other three laughed at him.

"But it was so awesome, Arthur. He was scurrying around his hotel room like a scared little rabbit."

England narrowed his eyes. "Don't tell me any more. Not another word. If I see him, I might just dish out some payback by telling him what it really was."

"Yeah, you'd do that, wouldn't you, bastard?" Romano punched him in the arm. "You know you wouldn't."

England considered this. "Yes, you're right, I wouldn't. But still."

"Plus," Denmark realized, "he probably wouldn't even believe you. He loves his ghosts."

"That's true too," the island nation admitted.

"Kesesese! Well, good night, sleepyheads. Get some good rest, so we can go explore tomorrow! Don't forget, we'll be ready to go eat at ten. Agreed?"

"Agreed, bastards."

"Good night, wankers."

…

Prussia leaped out of bed the next morning and stretched. "Den, this bed is awesome, you realize that? I'm not jet-lagged _at all!_"

"Mf." Denmark, who was, couldn't yet cope with this early-morning vitality.

"I'm going to do my exercises."

"Mf." Denmark rolled over and went back to sleep, putting a pillow over his head so he wouldn't have to listen to Prussia's muttered counting.

…

Ten o'clock rolled around. Prussia knocked on the connecting door.

Nobody answered. "Come on, you guys, wake up!" He hammered a little more loudly. Denmark was in the bathroom, washing up. Man, if those guys were still sleeping…

But England flung the door open with a big, bright smile. "Good morning, Gilbert! How are you today?" He took the albino's face in his hands and dragged him down to peck a kiss on his forehead. "So nice to see you. Pray come in, Romano is just finishing up in the bathroom." He bowed like an old-fashioned butler.

"Does he have underwear on yet?" Prussia asked with a grin.

"Yes, bastard! Shut up!" they heard, and laughed.

Soon all four of them were ready to go. "Kesesese! Thanks so much for this, you guys. I'm so excited."

"Wait, wait, wait." England looked at them; all four of them were carrying backpacks. "This is bloody ridiculous. We don't need four backpacks. Let's just combine the essentials into one, and take turns carrying it."

"Sensible bastard. Here." Romano slipped off his backpack and handed it to him.

"Git. I didn't mean I wanted to carry everything!"

Denmark took the backpack. "I'll do it today. Somebody else can take a turn tomorrow." He removed his own and dumped it out on the spare bed. "Get whatever you think is completely critical."

"Camera, sunscreen, money…" Prussia muttered, rummaging through his pack.

"Don't keep your money in your backpack, stupid!" Romano kicked him. "Somebody steals it, you're shit out of luck! And I'm not giving you any money. Not after that fucking casino business."

"Kesesese! You really think someone could steal a backpack from _Denmark_? Romano, my friend, you clearly have no concept of that man's strength." Prussia squeezed Denmark's awesome bicep; the tall blond struck a bodybuilder pose.

"Knock it the fuck off; you look like that stupid impersonator from the casino."

"Or bloody heroic America." England, meanwhile, had finished transferring his camera and a water bottle to Denmark's backpack. "What do you want in here?" he asked Romano.

"Uh, just my hat, I guess. And some ibuprofen. I may need it!" He glared at Prussia, who blew him a kiss and laughed.

"Here you go, Den." England handed him the newly-filled backpack.

"Prussia? Anything else to go in?"

"Nope. All set!"

"Well? Let's not stand around the fucking hotel all day. Come on." Romano reached for England's hand, but Prussia intercepted him and grabbed his hand. "Dammit." But Romano let him keep holding his hand all the way down to the lobby. Denmark and England exchanged a little smirk, and followed.

When they saw the lobby swarming with people, Romano jerked his hand away. "That's enough, albino potato. Are we eating in the hotel or what?"

"Let's," Denmark decided. "Nothing worse than wandering around on an empty stomach, trying to find a place to eat and not finding one."

"Kesesese! I agree. Let's go."

…

One quick breakfast later, the boys wandered out onto Hollywood Boulevard. "I am _so excited!_" Prussia yelled, jumping up and down and hugging Denmark, who patted his head.

Romano tried to kick him and missed. "We know. Stop acting like an idiot tourist."

"But he is an idiot tourist," England pointed out.

"Cheh, well, whatever. Let them walk ahead of us. Maybe people won't realize we're all together."

But Denmark wouldn't allow this. Not yet. "We came here to be together, so we're going to stay together. Teutonic Knights will keep his exuberance in check."

"I will? Oh, all right, I will." For about four seconds the albino pouted and then began skipping with glee.

"Keep it in check!" Romano barked.

Prussia came back and put his arm around him in a brotherly way. "Now, listen, Romano. I refuse to listen to you bitching the whole time. Why do you care if I'm jumping around? I'm happy! It's a nice day, I'm with my friends, we're in a cool city that I've been looking forward to for a long time, and" - here he lowered his voice - "I have a ton of money!" He raised his voice to normal again. "That's such a conjunction of awesomeness that you really cannot expect me to be calm about it. Okay?" He squeezed the brunet's shoulders and gave him a nice little smile.

"Well, all right. Just…well…"

"Don't worry. We'll keep him on the leash." England poked Prussia, who leaned over and kissed Romano's head.

The brunet pushed him away. "Chigi! Whatever!"

"Stop fighting," Denmark said mildly, and both Prussia and Romano snorted.

"Yes, all right, bastard, fine. Be as idiotic as you want."

"Thanks!"

…

"Let's go to Grauman's and look at the handprints and footprints," Denmark suggested.

"Cool, yes! I have to get a picture of Marilyn's for Poland, kesesese. It's such a cool job, being a movie star. If I couldn't be a nation, I'd either be a movie star or a rock star."

"You'd be good at both of those," England agreed. "Hey, we should look for Lucy and Ethel, too."

But Prussia shook his head. "They don't have handprints and footprints."

"You're joking! Why not?"

"Beats me," the albino admitted. "But I did a little research and they weren't on the list."

England scowled. "That's pretty pathetic." Everyone agreed.

The four of them reached the forecourt of Grauman's Chinese Theatre and split up to look around in general, as well as to find Marilyn Monroe's handprints. "Here's Fred Astaire!" Prussia called out, executing a little tap dance on the spot.

"Hey, Clint Eastwood," Romano pointed out; as a star in early spaghetti westerns, Eastwood had always had a special place in the Italian's heart.

England was still hunting for Marilyn, so Denmark pulled his camera out to take a few pictures of the sidewalk and of his friends. Romano mugged next to the Clint square for him, but Prussia was still randomly tap-dancing around as he called out famous names. Denmark decided to make a video.

"Hey, I found her," England called out. Denmark swung the camera to him as Prussia came over.

"The French are glad to die for love," Prussia declaimed, bowing to the island nation, and England's face lit up and he sang the next line as they faced each other over the square.

"They delight in fighting duels!"

Prussia's voice changed to a falsetto as he continued the song. "But I prefer a man who lives and gives expensive jewels."

Romano had been staring with his jaw dropped, but now he turned away. Denmark, though, kept the camera on the two friends as they sang and danced together. He wasn't sure whether they'd seen him filming or not, but he wasn't going to stop now.

"A kiss on the hand may be quite continental, but diamonds are a girl's best friend!" Prussia sang this line as he knelt and kissed England's outstretched hand with big, expansive gestures.

"A kiss may be grand, but it won't pay the rental on your humble flat, or help you at the Automat!" England then circled his kneeling friend, extending a hand to help him up.

Together they sang, holding hands and crooning to the sky, "Men grow cold as girls grow old, and we all lose our charms in the end." Prussia reached out and poked Romano in the rear end; he yelped and walked away without turning to look.

"But square-cut or pear-shape, these rocks don't lose their shape! Diamonds are a girl's best friend."

By now a little crowd had gathered to watch, laughing, and the two nations showed off even more, as they sang, twirled, blew each other kisses and flourished imaginary diamonds on fingers and wrists. Everyone seemed to realize the tall, spiky-haired man was filming them, so nobody got in the way of the camera.

"Time rolls on, and youth is gone, and you can't straighten up when you bend, but stiff back or stiff knees, you'll stand straight at Tiffany's…" Prussia stretched on his tiptoes and raised an arm to the sky as his falsetto reached an almost impossible high note.

"Diamonds! Diamonds!" they yelled, twirling in place. Laughing and hugging, foreheads pressed together, they then growled, "I don't mean rhinestones," turning back to face Denmark and end the song. "But diamonds are a girl's best, best friend!"

Prussia bowed; England dipped into a curtsey right at the Marilyn square, and all around the forecourt, people erupted into applause.

"You guys are awesome," Denmark told them, stashing the camera and hugging them. "This really is going to be a great vacation."

"Kesesese! Thanks, Arthur! That was so much fun. Though I never understood why anybody would be excited about a bread roll."

"What? What are you talking about?" England punched him in the arm, frowning.

"'Little pets get big baguettes'! I know 'little pets' must mean girlfriends, but what does that have to do with anything?"

"Gilbert, you idiot. A baguette is a way of cutting a diamond into a rectangle."

"Oh! Now I get it. Wow, that really never made any sense to me." England punched him again.

"And here I thought people didn't spontaneously burst into song and dance in real life, bastards." Romano, who had walked all the way to the edge of the forecourt, rejoined them with a little smile.

"You know Gilbert, though; anything for some attention."

"What a great day!" the albino yelled, spinning in place with his arms outstretched. "Den, did you get a picture of Marilyn's square for me to send to Poland? Here, do this." He lay down grinning with his head on Danny Thomas' square, right next to the famous blonde's, and Denmark snapped a picture.

"All set."

"Hey, maybe when we get back to the hotel I can just upload it to my blog. Then he can see it now instead of waiting for me to get back and beg West for computer time. May I use your laptop, Den?"

Denmark liked that idea. "Sure. We'll probably have a lot of stuff to blog about, if this is any indication."

"Come on, bastards, it's almost lunchtime and I'm hungry." Romano took England's hand and they began to walk off; Prussia and Denmark hurried to catch up.

…

"Something smells good," Romano said. "Let's find it and get lunch there."

Noses questing, they tried to find the source of the tantalizing aroma. Near them there was a long line of people. "Excuse me," Denmark asked the last guy in line. "What's the line for?"

"Pink's," he said. "Famous Hollywood hot dog stand."

"Forget it, bastards!" Romano erupted, making his friends laugh and frightening the man in line. "No fucking American wurst for lunch!" He tried to walk off, but Prussia grabbed him around the waist and lifted him up. "Chigi! Put me down!"

"Hey, you're the one who said it smelled good," Denmark laughed, pinching his cheek. "I think we should do it. If it's such a famous Hollywood thing."

"I'm fine with that." England walked over and joined the line; Denmark followed.

Romano was still struggling in the albino's intense hold. "Dammit! Let go, bastard."

"Only if we can eat at Pink's."

Romano struggled fruitlessly for about twenty seconds more, muttering under his breath_,_ but eventually stopped struggling. "Fine. We can eat at Pink's, but I get to choose where we have dinner."

"Total deal!" Prussia squealed in a Poland-like fashion, letting him go, and they joined their friends in line.

"Dammit," Romano muttered again.

"Oh, you know you're being a wet blanket. You said it smelled good, _and_ it's a famous Hollywood thing, _and_ all your friends want to eat here. You love us, right?" Prussia fluttered his eyelashes at his friend.

"Bastard. If you don't stop with that stupid business..."

England stepped back to make peace. "Go stand with Den," he said to Prussia. "I'll get Romano back into a good frame of mind."

"Kesesese!"

…

Later that night, after more wandering, a delicious Italian dinner, and some time in the hotel's rooftop pool, the nations adjourned to their rooms.

"Ten again tomorrow, bastards?" Romano was exhausted.

"Can't we make it nine? There's so much to do."

"Fine, albino potato, nine is fine," the brunet sighed.

"Awesome. We'll knock at nine."

England and Romano nodded and went into their hotel room.

Inside the other room, Denmark pulled out his laptop. "Do you want to upload the Poland thing?"

"Oh! Yeah. Man, that was so cool. I'm glad Arthur likes to sing and dance, too. Imagine if I would have tried that with Romano! Kesesese!"

Denmark snorted. "I can imagine it, all right. You would have sung that first line, and then it would have come to a crashing halt, right before he punched you."

"I know it. That boy needs to loosen up a little. Hey, will you do the web stuff for me? You know how to upload, right? I'll log in and you can just put up whatever pictures you want. I'll send Poland an email when you're done."

"Sure. Log in for me; I'll get the memory stick ready."

…

"Done," he said later. "Want me to email Poland for you?"

But Prussia, who had gotten up so early, was asleep in his clothes on the bed. Denmark smiled fondly at him, took his shoes off, and shoved him into the middle of the bed. Then he emailed Poland, shut down the computer, and crawled into the bed himself.

…

_They're staying at the W Hotel, which is known for its fancy beds._

_You can see the Marilyn version of "Diamonds are a Girl's Best Friend" on youtube._


	44. Happy Birthday, Denmark!

_Denmark's national day is June 5._

…

**Happy Birthday, Denmark!**

Prussia woke up and as usual began trying to do his pushups without disturbing Denmark. By the time he'd finished, showered (although that was kind of pointless, today), gotten dressed and packed a backpack, his friend had barely begun to stir. "Wake up, sleepyhead," Prussia said, rubbing Denmark's hair, which always looked ghastly in the morning.

"Uh."

"Come on, Den, I'm serious. You should be over your jet lag by now; we've been here a whole week already! Get up! It's eight o'clock. Arthur and Romano are probably up already."

This woke Denmark fully, and he began laughing. "You've got to be joking. Those snoozers? I'm going to knock on the connecting door and see how long it takes them to answer."

He slipped out of the bed and walked to the connecting door as Prussia watched, biting his lip. Just as Denmark raised his hand to the door, a knock sounded, and Prussia laughed. "Told ya!"

Denmark opened the door.

"Dammit! Put some fucking pants on, bastard!" Slam.

Whoops. Prussia laughed even louder. "Den, how could you forget your _pants_?"

Denmark's face was bright red as he stumbled to the dresser. "You could have said something, you know. Just because you're a morning person…"

"You're so much fun, Den. I really do love you."

"Yeah. I know you love me." The surly Dane, now in his red heart boxers, headed to the bathroom to wash up.

Shortly thereafter he directed Prussia to knock on the connecting door again.

"Who the fuck is it?"

"Who do you think, Romano? It's either me or Denmark, right?"

"Are you dressed, bastards?"

"Kesesese, yes, I totally made him get dressed. Open the door."

Romano opened the door and pointedly avoided looking towards Denmark, who laughed and pecked a kiss on the dark hair. "Good morning, Romano."

"Argh."

"Hey, where's England? In the shower?" Denmark wondered.

"No, he went downstairs for something. He'll be right back."

"So what are we doing today?"

Romano, by the door, and Prussia, sitting on the spare bed, looked at each other and then quickly away. "Uh, well, I, we, uh…" Romano faltered.

"Don't worry, Den, we'll think of something awesome."

England sailed into the room, grinning. "All set, gits."

"Shut up, bastard!"

"Shh! Arthur!"

Denmark, puzzled, asked, "What's all set?"

"Dammit."

But England just laughed. "Oops. Are we all ready for breakfast? Romano, is our backpack ready?"

"Yes, yes, I packed it while you were on your mysterious mission."

"Prussia? Got a backpack?"

"Indeed I do, Ethel, my awesome friend." He scooped up the bulging backpack and put it on. "Come on, Den, let's go downstairs and have some breakfast."

…

Breakfast was fairly standard, at a very large corner table. Then England elbowed Romano, who said, "Well, uh, Denmark, we, we know you like water parks, right?"

"We're going to a water park?" Denmark practically leaped out of his chair. "Why didn't you say? I love water parks!"

"Kesesese! We know, right? Didn't Romano just say that? Calm down and listen." Prussia yanked on his arm to make him focus.

"All right, sorry, but I really do love water parks."

"Right. Well, we're going to a water park today, since – oh, you tell him, albino potato."

"Since it's your awesome birthday!" Prussia kissed Denmark's cheek.

"Oh! You mysterious boys. I completely forgot; I guess my schedule's off, since we're on vacation." Denmark grinned and scratched his head. "Thanks. That's super nice of you."

"Well, we would have done a water park anyway," Prussia admitted, "but we decided to have it today to celebrate."

"You two like water parks?" Denmark then asked Romano and England.

"Sure, bastard. They're almost as much fun as bouncy houses," Romano laughed. "In fact we should have a bet today. To celebrate."

Denmark turned serious. "But you know I was trying to cut back on the betting."

"This is just a little friendly bet, though. Just one of our regular bets. It's not like we're asking you to go to some fucking casino and drop a bundle." Romano drank some espresso. "Nothing that Sweden's going to holler at you about." He laughed a little.

"What kind of awesome bet do you have in mind?" Prussia was wiggling in his chair with excitement.

"How the hell would I know? You think of something."

Prussia tried to think.

Denmark tried to think.

Romano tried to think.

And England said, "How about one of your stupid 'no swearing or fighting' bets?"

"Maybe." But then Romano thought a little more. "No! Not today. Absolutely no fu—"

But Prussia cut Romano off with a calculating stare. "Yeah, I'd awesomely take that bet. You know I'd win today."

"Shut up, albino potato, I refuse."

"Something else is going on here, isn't it?" Denmark asked.

The other three fell silent and looked around the room in an artificially nonchalant manner. Prussia even began to whistle as he stared at the ceiling.

Denmark drank some coffee and waited.

"Nothing," England finally said, and Denmark spit his coffee across the table, into Romano's face.

"Dammit! Bastard, what the hell's the matter with you?" He punched his boyfriend.

"Don't blame _me_, wanker. Denmark's the one who spit on you." England handed him a napkin.

"Sorry, Romano. England startled me."

"Whatever" came from behind the napkin.

"Do you want to go back upstairs and wash up?"

Romano lowered the napkin and stared at his Danish friend. "Bastard, we're going to a _water park_. It'll wash off."

"Oh. Well, yeah." He drank some more coffee. "Where is this place, anyway? How are we getting there?"

On cue, the friends heard "Ha ha ha ha ha!" across the restaurant and glanced over to see America striding towards them in a loud Hawaiian shirt, shorts, and flip-flops, a set of keys dangling from his finger. Austria, looking slightly embarrassed to be dressed the same way, slunk along behind him.

"Dude! Happy birthday!" America clapped Denmark on the back.

"Thanks! You're driving us to the water park? That's cool. The more the merrier."

Austria shook Denmark's hand. Then Prussia jumped up and hugged and kissed Austria, who fidgeted. "Prussia, please. Not in a public place." He pushed his glasses up his nose.

"So I guess you two are awesomely back together, right? After the talent show?" Prussia beamed at them both; America nodded to the waiter and pulled out a chair for Austria and then for himself.

"I'm so lucky, man," America laughed. "Aren't I?" He poked England.

"Not as lucky as I am." The island nation hugged Romano.

"Chigi!"

"Oh, settle down, all of you, please?" Austria begged. "We're _in a_ _public place_."

"Sorry, sweetie," America said, making Austria blush, Prussia laugh, and England snort. "But are you guys done with breakfast? We should get going; it's about an hour's drive."

"Aha," Denmark realized, standing up. "This is why you were such pests about getting up early!"

"Aw, see, Arthur, I told you he'd figure it out."

"Wait, though. I don't have my swim stuff with me." Denmark looked panicky now.

"You don't trust me to take care of that for you? I'm hurt." Prussia pouted before yelling, "Kesesese! Let's go!"

…

"You brought this enormous van?" Romano was a bit surprised.

"Well, we had to bring some other people along, too," America admitted. "But it won't be a problem. Go on, get in."

Austria called shotgun (technically he said "I'm going to ride in the front seat") and the rest of them clambered into the back, where Iceland, Liechtenstein and Switzerland were sitting. Predictably, Switzerland seemed unhappy, but the other two were more than cheerful enough to make up for it.

"Whoa, great to see you guys!" Prussia yelled, sliding in next to Switzerland, which pushed him up against his little sister, which pushed her up against Iceland, who laughed and shook Prussia's hand.

"Go sit up there," Switzerland grumbled, pointing to the empty middle row of seats.

"Oh, don't be a party pooper, Swissy."

"Don't call me _Swissy_." The Alpine nation, dressed in summer gear with no visible weapons, turned to Denmark and grumpily wished him a happy birthday.

"Happy birthday, Denmark," Liechtenstein echoed.

Iceland nodded. "I hope it will be a good one, my old friend."

"This is really great!" Denmark told them. "So many friends to celebrate with."

"Bastard, you have no idea."

"All set?" America asked, turning on the ignition.

"All set, wanker," England sighed, buckling up and wedging himself up against the side of the van, closing his eyes and holding Romano's hand in a death grip.

Romano tolerated this, since no one else could see, and America drove off.

…

The noise level in the van was almost unbearable by the time they pulled into the parking lot. "We're lucky it's midweek," America told everyone. "I was able to get them to close to the public today."

"You're _joking_," Denmark said. "Just for us?" He did a quick headcount; nine nations?

"Kesesese! Den, you don't seriously think we'd have a tiny little party like this? No. Come on in!" Prussia dragged Denmark through the entrance gates with the others streaming behind them, and once inside saw not only a host of park employees, picnic tables laden with food, but also –

"Ve! Happy birthday, Denmark!" Veneziano blew on a little noisemaker and jumped up and down happily.

"H'p'y B'rthd'y." Sweden actually smiled a little bit and shook Den's hand. Norway, apparently no longer dating Russia (who was nowhere to be seen), stood by and smiled briefly at the birthday boy.

"Moi moi, happy birthday, Denmark!" Finland handed him a present.

"Best wishes on your birthday," Japan told him, bowing.

"I left the frying pan at home today," Hungary said, standing on tiptoe to peck the birthday nation on the cheek.

"Even I am here to wish you a happy birthday-aru," China, wrapped in a Hello Kitty towel, chimed in.

"It is always a good occasion when nations can relax together," Germany said, shaking Denmark's hand.

"Like, happy birthday!" Poland (in pink trunks with flowers on them) squealed, hugging Lithuania, who simply smiled and nodded.

"Canada's coming, too," America told Den, "but he'll be late."

Denmark narrowed his eyes at that, but his attention was diverted by Spain and France, who came up and hugged him. "Ohonhonhon, Denmark, you are really such a fine specimen of a man…" France seemed to be forgetting himself, and pressed a little closer to him.

"Mm, _s__í, Francia_, you have certainly said it." Spain reached up and seductively ran his fingers through the embarrassed Denmark's hair.

"Get away from him, you two," Prussia barked, putting a hand on each of their shoulders and shoving them away. "Come on! Let's _party!_"

Loud music began pumping from the speakers and nations began to stow their gear and head for the water slides.

"What's that?" England asked, pointing to a large square thing like a billboard.

"Movie screen!" America yelled, as he ran off with Austria. "We'll have an awesome movie later! Ha ha!"

"Da-a-amn. This is the most amazing birthday I have ever had. Well, except the first one ever, you know, but that was a long time ago. Come on, let's go on a slide!" Denmark looked at the park map.

"Let's go on the tallest one first," Prussia decided.

"Dammit. Let birthday boy decide, you fucking self-centered moron."

"Whatever!" Denmark laughed and ruffled Romano's hair.

"Chigi! Watch out for the hair curl."

"Hey, that's a bet we could do," Denmark realized.

"What? No! Nothing with the fucking curl, bastards."

"No. No, try to keep your hair dry all day. Last person with dry hair wins."

"I'm out," England said immediately. "Every time I try something like that, I fail. I'm just going to get my hair wet right away."

"Prussia? Romano?"

"Well," Prussia considered, "define 'dry.' I mean, there's a lot of splashing going on. We're bound to get wet from that."

"Huh, yeah. Well, we'll think of something else."

"I'm going to try to do it anyway," Romano decided. "My hair always feels like straw when it gets too full of chlorine. I'm going to see if I can keep it dry."

"Okay, well, come on, Den, which slide are we going on?"

Denmark looked at the map again. "Oh! How about the Tunnel of Terror?"

Romano looked a little worried. "Wh-what's so terrible about it?"

"Slide in the dark? Kesesese! I'm in!"

"I'm in, wankers."

"Uh…"

"Well, come with us, Romano, and if you don't want to you don't have to. All right?" Prussia put his arm around his dark-haired friend.

"Yes, all right, bastard, just get your fucking arm off me." He stalked away and the others followed.

…

England tried an oblique approach. "The thing about a dark slide is, well, it's kind of good, because you can't see the bloody twists and turns coming. You just have to lie there and take it."

"Unh."

"Bad approach, Arthur. Okay, how about this? If we all go down, you'll be left standing here at the top! Not awesome at all, and all the other nations will see you standing here like a big fat chicken. Do you really want West to see that?"

"Chigi-i-i-i!" Romano's voice faded away as he immediately jumped and slid into the dark interior of the Tunnel of Terror.

"Me next!" Denmark elbowed Prussia out of the way and jumped.

"You can go next, Gilbert." England bowed.

"Thank you so much, Arthur."

…

At the bottom of the ride they all had thoroughly wet hair. "Good thing we didn't make that dumb bet," Romano snorted.

"No kidding." Denmark reached over with one hand and dunked him.

He came up spluttering. "Dammit, Den! Knock it off!"

"Why? Your hair's awesomely wet already," Prussia told him, as if he didn't know that.

"Grr. Just don't touch me, bastards."

"Settle down, wankers. Let Denmark pick a slide."

"Thanks, England. How about this one?" He pointed to the map. "It's a four-man raft ride." He very carefully made sure not to let Romano see the map.

"Sure, whatever," England said, nudging Romano. "All right with you?"

"Oh, sure. A raft ride? How bad could it be?"

Prussia, looking at the map over Den's shoulder, smirked, but Romano didn't see.

…

"Dammit, you sneaky bastards! You didn't say it was in the dark again!"

Prussia cackled and tickled Romano under the chin. "Is 'oo scared of de dark, wittle Womano?"

"Shut the fuck up. I'm going in a wave pool. Come with me, bastard," he growled, grabbing England by the arm.

The island nation sighed. "Guess we'll be in a wave pool, gits. See ya."

"Wave pools are great," Denmark grinned. "Come on, Prussia, let's go to the wave pool with our friends."

"Kesesese!"

…

After calmly floating in a wave pool for half an hour, talking about their future vacation plans and chatting with other nations who happened to drop by, Denmark decided he was hungry, so they adjourned to the picnic tables.

"Ice cream!" America yelled, running over. He slipped on a wet patch and fell.

"Git."

But Prussia helped him up. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, bro. Thanks." He adjusted his glasses and made a beeline for the ice cream.

"Ice cream sounds really good, though."

A park worker beamed at Denmark as he said this and scooped some ice cream for him. "H-happy birthday, sir," the employee said.

"Thanks. I love your water park!"

"We love it too!"

Romano, Prussia and England had loaded up with some food, too, so they all moved to an empty picnic table to eat. "The burger bastard sure knows how to do parties right."

"No kidding," Denmark agreed. "Was this all his idea?"

"It was awesomely Romano's idea to have a party for you."

Romano blushed a little. "Well. But it was Prussia's idea to do the water park."

"And then America had the idea to invite all the other nations, kesesese."

England had maintained a resolute silence throughout all this. Now Denmark turned to him. "Didn't you come up with anything, old friend?"

The island nation exploded. "The wankers didn't even tell me there was a party until last night!"

Everyone laughed at him, and then he laughed at himself, and ate a little ice cream.

…

"Come on, Romano. It's my _birthday-y-y…"_ Denmark gave his friend a very goofy pleading look. "We need four people on the raft!"

"I could ask West, if Romano doesn't want to join us?" Prussia suggested.

This tactic worked again. "All right, bastards, I'll go on the fucking tube slide. In the _dark._ Let's go get it over with."

...

"Whoa! That was awesome!" Romano jumped off the raft and hugged Denmark. "Thanks! Let's do it again."

"No, no, no. I want to go on the three-tube slide."

"What's the three-tube slide?" England asked him.

"Three tubes that interlace in and out of each other like a braid, and all end up in the same pool."

"Awesome! We can have our bet." Prussia nodded sagely. "All start at the same time, last one down loses."

"Fine with me, bastards. Let's go."

They climbed the stairs to the top of the three-tube slide, each in line for a different tube: Prussia on the left, Denmark in the middle, Romano on the right. England would follow separately. Behind them, Sweden and Finland stood waiting their turn.

"All right, what does the loser have to do, if he loses the bet?" Romano asked.

Denmark scratched his stomach. "Hm. Can't buy dinner, because we have all this food. Can't drive back to the hotel; America will do that for us."

"Come on, Denmark, you guys are holding up the line!" Finland admonished them. "Get moving!"

Prussia was jumping up and down in his eagerness to go. "Aw, come on, let's just make the bet and we can talk about it later. Countdown will be 3-2-1-go, all right? Arthur, you'll give the countdown?"

"Three – two – one – go!" England yelled.

But somewhere between "two" and "one," Sweden tapped Denmark on the shoulder, which meant that he was completely distracted while his friends leaped into their tubes with glee. "Damn it, Sweden! Why did you do that? Now I'm going to lose the bet—" He cut himself off abruptly. Oops.

"Th'ght y'weren't bett'ng 'nym're," the taciturn nation said with a frown.

"Ah, it's just a friendly bet, all right? Which you made me lose, on my birthday! Damn it, Sweden," he repeated. "I – I have to go!" He jumped into the tube. England, realizing the whole bet was ruined, jumped into the tube Prussia had used.

In the water at the bottom, Denmark came up spluttering, certain he was going to get a ribbing from his friends, but Romano was the only one there. "Bastard, what the hell? Was your tube longer than mine or something?"

"Beats me. Sweden started lecturing me about betting, so I got a late start. Maybe we can have a do-over?"

"But where's the albino potato? I thought he jumped in at the same time I did. Did he wait with you?"

"I don't really know." Both of them turned to look at the third tube, which was placidly pouring water out, but no Prussia. "I was too busy yelling at Sweden."

The two friends now heard a loud yelling getting louder, and it seemed to be coming from the third tube. "Uh-oh," Romano said, and indeed, as they watched, a giant tangle of pale arms and legs and bodies shot out of the tube, causing the water to froth and foam.

They waited where they were until the pile of flesh sorted itself into Prussia and England, and then hesitantly crossed over to them. England stood up, but Prussia remained crouched in the shallow water, seeming a bit embarrassed. "What happened?" Denmark asked them.

"I have no bloody idea," England snarled. "I went into the allegedly empty tube and crashed into Gilbert about halfway down, and the rest of the ride was a nightmare. I think you got your elbow in my _ear_, git."

But Prussia was still acting diffident. "Uh, well, I think my swim trunks must have gotten snagged on something. I stopped sliding and just hung there, until Arthur crashed into me, and then we came down the slide together." He paused and looked back up at the slide. "I think they're still in there somewhere."

"What's still in there?" Denmark wondered.

But Romano yelled, "You're _naked_, bastard?"

All the nations in earshot stopped what they were doing, looked at the now-blushing Prussia, and then hurriedly went back to what they'd been doing. Denmark was greatly amused by this and started laughing, but the others had different concerns.

"Good thing the frog didn't hear that."

"Yes, I'm naked," Prussia admitted. "Don't even yell at me. It's not my fault and I don't have a spare pair of trunks. Just my shorts."

"Well, put them on, naked albino bastard!"

"I can't! Well, I could, but then I can't go on the slides any more. They have a rule about no shorts with rivets in them, and my shorts are jean shorts. Totally unawesome." He thought about this. "Do any of you have shorts without rivets you can lend me?"

"Not me, git. Mine are jean shorts, too."

"Mine wouldn't fit you," Denmark said, stretching his well-muscled body in the sunlight.

Everyone avoided catching Romano's eye.

"Dammit."

England poked him. "Give Gilbert your shorts, Romano. The chlorine will kill off all the albino cooties for you."

Romano turned red again and all his friends started laughing at him. "Yes, all right," he finally muttered. "Let me go to my backpack."

Denmark waved over a park attendant. "Maybe we can get Prussia a towel in the meantime?" he asked the worker, who hastily fetched a towel. Prussia managed to wrap it around his waist and climb out of the water with his dignity intact.

"You have to let me wear your dry shorts on the way home, though," Romano told him, handing over the proper shorts.

"Kesesese! I will. Thanks, Romano. I appreciate it."

Romano kept his eyes on his backpack. "N-no problem," he eventually replied. "Wouldn't be, uh, awesome, for you to have to sit around and watch us have fun without you."

The other three shared a grin over his bent head. Prussia took the shorts to the locker room to change.

…

By early evening, many of the nations had begun to wind down a bit. "Hey, people!" America yelled. "Get some rest – we have an amazing short movie to show you! We'll start the film around nine, when it gets darker. Rest up, eat up!"

Tired nations nodded and headed for quiet places to relax, some with plates of food (which had been continually replenished throughout the day), and some just quietly talking to each other. Iceland and Liechtenstein headed for a spot under the trees. "I'm going to take a nap," the friends heard Liechtenstein say quietly to her friend.

"That's all right. I'm going to stay awake. I'll make sure you wake up in time for the amusing film, whatever it is." They smiled at each other before walking away.

Denmark watched them go. "Hey, you guys," he said to his friends. "I'm going to go chat with Ice for a while, all right? Everybody's been so busy; I haven't talked to him much lately."

"Kesesese! Get the story on Liechtenstein! Are they still doing all right?"

Romano punched the albino. "You're an idiot. They're going to lie under the trees together. Why would they do that if they weren't?"

"Oh, can it, Romano. Let's get some pizza."

Denmark went to sit with Iceland while his friends prepared some snacks. "Hey, Ice, Liechtenstein," he said, sitting down. "I know you want to nap," he told the girl with a grin. "Feel free. I just want to talk to Ice; it's been so long since we sat down together."

"Thank you, Denmark." She settled herself on the towel. "And thank you for that wonderful New Year's party you hosted."

Both the Nordic nations smiled, at that, and Iceland squeezed her hand briefly before she closed her eyes.

…

When Den came back to his friends, Romano was lying down, and England and Prussia were having a contest to see who could finish a bowl of ice cream first. Not wanting to interrupt, Denmark patted Prussia on the back, which distracted him, and England won. "Den, damn it! Why did you do that? I keep losing bets today!"

"Bastard."

"Oh. I thought Romano was asleep."

"Trying to be," he countered. "These slobby bastards keep making noises while they eat."

"Be thankful we're not drinking, git," England laughed, poking him.

"So I wonder what this awesome movie is?" Prussia scanned the area for America, to ask him, but he was nowhere in sight.

"Guess we'll find out in another hour or so." Denmark waved to a park attendant – they all seemed kind of beat, too – and asked for some ice cream.

…

"All right, people! Wake up and get ready." America bustled about, chivvying people over towards the movie screen. He kicked the supine England. "Get up, Iggy. You won't want to miss this."

England was a little groggy. "Some stupid hero movie, right?"

"Well, no, as a matter of fact," America admitted. "You'll like it, I promise. Come on."

By now everyone was beginning to get organized in front of the movie screen. "Is it Transformers?" Japan asked. "I like that movie very much."

"Ha ha, no, just be patient! It's just a short film."

When everyone was in place America stood up to make a little speech. "I just want to remind everyone that we're here because it's Denmark's birthday! Stand up, Denmark!"

Sheepishly, he did, and all the nations and park workers applauded politely. "Can I sit down now?" he asked.

"Yeah, dude, sit if you want to. So anyway, we're going to be showing just a short film to entertain you all, and then the park will be closing. Sit tight."

There was a notable lack of excitement over this announcement.

America, unable to read the atmosphere, didn't notice the chirping of the crickets in the sudden silence. "Let's roll it!" he yelled to an unseen cameraman, who started the special featurette.

The scene showed a sunlit day outside Grauman's Chinese Theater. "Hey, we were just there!" Prussia yelled, and everyone shushed him.

And then everyone did, in fact, see that the visitors had recently been there, because Denmark's little video of the song-and-dance routine played on the forty-foot screen. Romano ground his hands into his eye sockets, groaning, but England and Prussia beamed with pride as they watched themselves cavort. "Den, did you send him this or what? I didn't even know you made a video!" Prussia hissed.

"I put it on your blog," Denmark whispered. "Guess he saw it and planned this on his own."

"We're really good!" England said, leaning against Prussia, who nodded and hugged him.

"Shut up." Romano was now trying to hide behind Denmark.

When the video ended, both the performers stood up and bowed to their friends at the water park, to a round of applause.

"See, Iggy? Toldja you'd like it!" America laughed. "And that's it for today, folks! Be safe getting home!"

Nations began to pack their gear up and filter past Denmark on the way to the locker rooms with weary happy birthday wishes. Denmark thanked them all.

The friends waited until most of the crowd had departed before heading to the locker room themselves. "I'm going to shower in the hotel, instead of here," Prussia decided, and the others all agreed. He handed Romano his dry jean shorts.

The others all changed out of their wet trunks into dry clothing. "Nice underwear, Romano."

"Thanks, albino potato."


	45. A Bit of Quiet Time

**A Bit of Quiet Time.**

England came out of the hotel bathroom in his silk pajama bottoms and slipped into bed beside Romano, who was lying on his back looking at the ceiling in a distracted way. "Are you all right?"

"Nh. Just thinking. A little bit tired, I guess. We've packed a lot of stuff into this vacation already. I'm not used to all this whirlwind shit."

"You hang out with Gilbert, though. You should be used to it by now. He's always like that."

"Cheh, yes, I know. Listen, will you turn the lights off? I'd love to just lie here and relax with you."

"Sure." The island nation got out of bed and switched off the lights. When he got back into the bed he lay on his side and held Romano's hand.

Things were quite peaceful for a minute, and then Romano coughed.

"Are you all right? Getting sick?" This might be bad.

"N-no, I just…I wanted to ask you something and I'm trying to work up my nerve."

"You can ask me anything you want. You know that." England raised their joined hands to his mouth and kissed Romano's knuckles; he felt the warm hand uncurl and the fingers run through his hair.

"Yeah, I guess I do know that. I – was just wondering." But then he stopped, and he stopped playing with England's hair, too.

"Something bothering you?"

"Did you ever go out with the albino potato?" the brunet blurted out.

"What? You mean like dating? No."

"You're telling the truth, bastard?"

"Yes! Why the hell would I lie? I've never dated Gilbert. We were allies a lot, but we were enemies just as often. Why is this bothering you all of a sudden?" England sat up on the bed, facing his friend.

Romano reached out and took his hand again, somewhat shyly. "You two are always so – so _cuddly_ with each other, or something. I don't know. You're always hugging and singing together and shit like that. I – kind of wondered if you had a history together, or – maybe you just like doing all that, and he's – he's just the right kind of person for it, and – and – "

But the half-nation was unable to continue speaking, because England had leaned down and kissed him. "Shut it," he murmured with a grin, cupping Romano's face with one hand. "Gilbert is very good at being Prussia. Loud, energetic, obnoxious, and yes, fun, and surprising. But nobody can live with that all the time." Here he stopped and thought about this. "Well, obviously _he_ can, and I guess Denmark can, but – no. Even _Germany_ can't take it, and Gilbert is his brother! He's someone I like to be with when I want to act crazy, but you, you're who I want to be with when I want to be myself." He lavished a few more kisses on his distraught boyfriend's lips. "Home is where the heart is, yeah?"

Romano looked confused. "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"My heart is with you."

"Oh." The brunet smiled, finally. "Sappy romantic bastard." He reached up and wrapped his arms around England's neck. "Show me how your heart feels about being with me, dammit."

"My pleasure, wanker," the island nation grinned, snuggling closer.

…

"Hey, Den, did you ever open the present Finland gave you on your birthday?" Prussia was on the hotel bed, eating caramels and watching the Euro Cup. "Greece is beating Russia," he pointed out. "That's pretty serious."

Denmark came over to the bed with a bag of pretzels. "Where is that present, anyway? I don't even remember what I did with it."

"Probably over near the suitcase."

"Here, hold the pretzels. I'll get it out." He put the bag on the bed and unearthed the flat gift box. "I hope it's nothing too weird."

"Finland never gives weird gifts. He's got some kind of psychic present radar. Kesesese, he always gives West a bunch of porn."

Denmark snorted. "You're right. Finland has his finger on the pulse of the nations." He sat on the bed and opened the box. "Ha!"

"What is it?" Prussia craned his neck to see.

"Swim trunks." He held them up. "Danish flag swim trunks."

"Kesesese! You know, we have the most awesome collection of flag-related clothing there ever was. Underwear, jackets, now swim trunks –"

But Den had just checked the size label. "What? His radar has failed."

"Why? What's wrong with them?" Prussia reached over and grabbed them. "They're awesome. I wish they were mine. Because you'll recall I have no swim trunks anymore, since I lost mine at the water park. I wish I knew where they got to; I'd mend them. You know West will never give me money for new trunks. Plus, having the Danish flag design! Well, Denmark, you know I love you, and I'd love to have your flag design covering the awesome five meters."

"Ha ha. Take them."

"What? Seriously? You don't want them?" Prussia jumped up and held them up against himself. "They're so nice! Why don't you want them?" He gave Denmark a very concerned look.

"They're not my size! I'd never fit in those. They'd be way too tight."

"Kesesese, I bet Finland just wants to admire your firm Danish buttocks, my friend." He ruffled the spiky hair and Denmark grabbed him, pulling him onto the bed with a little growl.

"I don't give a damn what Finland wants. I want to see you try on those trunks," he demanded.

"All right. Just hold on, I'll go change." Prussia tried to head to the bathroom but Den grabbed him by the back of his boxers, nearly ripping them.

"No. I want you to put them on out here."

Prussia's eyes widened and he got a very funny little smirk on his face. "All right. I can awesomely do that. But turn the television off. I don't want to be competing with the game."

Denmark snorted and used the remote to turn off the television.

"Too bad we don't have any striptease music handy," Prussia said, beginning to gyrate. "I bet I'd be an excellent stripper."

Denmark watched in disbelief as Prussia danced a striptease to music only the albino could hear. When he finally took his boxers off, he flung them at Den's head with a big goofy smile. They landed on his head, and when he managed to uncover his eyes, Prussia was dressed in the swim trunks, grinning like an idiot.

"You're an idiot," Denmark said, turning the TV back on.

"What? _What?_ After I did that awesome striptease, without even needing any music, and then you got to see me in your cool new Danish swim trunks? Turn the television off. Give me that remote_._" He jumped on the bed and began wrestling Denmark for the remote; the Dane got up and took it to the other side of the room. Prussia chased him, yelling, "Come on, give it to me! Don't make me beg, Denmark, _pleeease_? You know I want it!"

…

On the other side of the wall, Romano and England stopped what they were doing and cringed. "I don't even want to know," Romano groaned.

"Some days I wish he was still my enemy," England agreed, as they pulled pillows over their heads to muffle the noise.


	46. Muscle Beach

_I'm surprised these guys haven't gotten thrown out of the hotel yet._

…

**Muscle Beach.**

Romano had very strongly resisted coming to Muscle Beach, because he was afraid of looking like the proverbial 98-pound weakling. It had taken the calm, combined efforts of Denmark (who explained why it was called Muscle Beach) and England (who kept his hand over Prussia's mouth to keep him from interfering with the explanation) to talk him into going.

It was only called Muscle Beach because of some workout equipment on site, so he'd finally agreed, and now they were spreading out their gear on the sand, setting up a beach umbrella, and so on. Romano immediately flopped face-down on a towel, not concerned with sun protection, while the other three dug through their bags for sunscreen.

"Will you put sunscreen on me, Prussia?" Denmark asked, holding out his bottle.

"Kesesese!" Prussia, in his new Danish flag swim trunks, took it and sat up to begin rubbing it on Denmark.

"Dammit. Why can't you just rub the fucking stuff on him without all the damn commentary? You drive me nuts, bastard."

"Wow, you're sour today. All I was doing was laughing. I'm happy to be here! This is a big-time famous beach and I'm happy. So, stop whining." Prussia stuck his tongue out at Romano, who rolled his eyes and tried to go to sleep. "I want some pictures of me doing awesome muscley things later."

"Bastard."

"Hello?" England asked, poking the brunet. "Are you going to suncream me, or do I have to get Gilbert to rub this nice cream all over my pale body?" He fished in his bag and pulled out his sunscreen.

Romano turned bright red and covered his entire head with his arms while the others laughed at him, so he called England's bluff. "Get the albino potato to do it."

"I don't mind," Prussia told them, "but somebody has to do me first; I'm the most vulnerable to sun damage." He was still massaging sunscreen into the backs of Denmark's legs.

They heard a little titter from a short ways away; when they looked in that direction, two teenage girls giggled and ran off. "Dammit," Romano said again.

"Eh. Let them have their fun." England took the bottle of sunscreen from Prussia's side and began to read it. "Wow. What kind of sunscreen is this?"

"Awesome, isn't it? West has been working on developing this for military work. It's SPF 500+! That means I could stay out in the sun for forty-two hours straight."

Romano, who had come out from hiding, rolled his eyes. "Forty-two hours of sunlight. Right."

Denmark was now fully protected and lay back under the beach umbrella. "Does that mean that tomorrow you wouldn't need to use it? You'd still be protected from today?"

Prussia shrugged. "Technically. At least that's what West tells me. But I have to shower, you know; I can't stand the idea of grainy dirty sunscreen on me overnight." He lay down and let England begin applying sunscreen.

"Oh, Gilbert, you have the sexiest back I ever saw," England joked, trying to give him a massage while he put the cream on. He slipped the bottle of sunscreen back into Prussia's bag. "I love to stroke your pearly albino skin."

Romano snorted and Denmark laughed; a shadow fell on the group. A group of older teen boys was staring at them, blushing. Prussia blew them a kiss and they all ran away.

"Dammit. Is this whole fucking day going to be like this?"

"I bet it is," Denmark laughed lazily. "You're just a teen magnet, Romano."

"Shut up."

Prussia and England then changed places. "May I try some of your fancy suncream?" the island nation asked.

"Kesesese! Sure, I don't mind. I brought six bottles of it and this is only the fourth one, so we should be all right. Only a couple more days left of vacation." He sighed and reached into his bag to grab the bottle, and then started to smear sunscreen on the back of England's lower legs.

"Don't be a pouty bastard. We have a cruise coming up."

"Got a meeting before that." Denmark sounded really sleepy already.

"Where's the next meeting?" Prussia moved up to begin working the cream into England's back. "Maybe I'll go."

"Japan."

"Huh. Maybe I won't."

"What's wrong with Japan?" England asked. "Bloody hell, Gilbert, you're really good at this." He stretched out a little more.

"Kesesese! As good as Romano?"

"How the hell would I know? He never gives me backrubs."

Prussia leaned over and poked Romano with a sunscreened fingertip. "That's pretty brutal. You should give him one sometime."

"Cheh, yeah, whatever, bastard. Stop getting goo on me, and let me sleep."

The albino finished putting the sunscreen on England's back and lay down, chin on hands, staring at the ocean. "Anyway, I'm just not comfortable with Japan. Because of the language and stuff."

"But he's the potato bastard's buddy, so you guys should get along great," Romano said. England sat up and began applying the fancy German stuff to his arms and chest, and the front of his legs.

"Theoretically, but – nah. I'm not going to go. That all right with you, Den? Den?"

But Denmark was already asleep.

"Hah," Romano said weakly, sounding half asleep himself.

"Let him sleep," Prussia told the other two. "He was really worn out last night."

England laughed and Romano hid his head again. "Shut _up_, albino potato."

"Yes, all right. Hey, Arthur, let's go swim."

"This sunscreen won't wash off?" the blond asked.

"Nope! Totally awesome."

"That all right with you, Romano? Romano?"

But he was asleep too.

"Come on, let's leave the snoozers and go swim!" Prussia jumped up and ran to the water, and England chased him, laughing.

"Thought the chatty bastards would never leave," Romano muttered to himself.

"Tell me about it," the snoozy Denmark replied.

And that was the last thing either of them said, for a while.

…

"Quarterfinals on Sunday," Denmark said later.

"Ooh! Who's playing?" Prussia grabbed a can of soda from his bag, and then noticed the other three staring at him like he was an idiot. "What's the matter with all of you?"

"It's England versus Italy, you moronic git. I can't believe you didn't know that." England pinched him in the arm and took his soda, opening it and guzzling some.

"Ow! Hey, Arthur, not cool! Give me my soda back!"

Laughing, Romano took the can. "Mm, delicious, potato brain. Thanks." He polished it all off and threw the empty can back at Prussia, who was looking furious.

"You really are an idiot sometimes," Denmark said. "Are we going to watch the match, or what?"

"Kesesese! Yes. Ooh, you know what? We should –"

"No, we shouldn't," Den interrupted him.

"What? I was only going to say we should watch it in the hotel bar, so that if the loser gets drunk he won't have too far to stagger after the game."

"That's an asinine reason," Romano said, "but what the hell. I won't have to drag drunk boy very far, if we're in the hotel."

"As if I'm going to lose," England sneered.

"We'll see, bastard. We'll see."

…

Later on, Denmark needed another sunscreening, but both Prussia and England declined. "The awesome German sunscreen will protect us."

"Hey, Prussia. Let's go in the water." Den, after the new cream was applied, grabbed the albino by the arm.

"Sure, I don't mind." They got up and went in to swim. "What did you think I was going to say about the match?" Prussia wondered.

"Thought you were going to say 'we should make a bet.'" Denmark floated around on his back a little.

"Oh! We totally should, though. That would be awesome."

Denmark splashed him. "Are you nuts? Romano would rip our balls off and shove them down our throats if he knew we were making a bet about him."

"Well, we wouldn't have to tell them, you know."

"You'd blab, Prussia; you always do."

"Probably. And he'd be even more mad when he found out I'd bet on Arthur."

"What? No way. _I'm_ betting on England."

"Except we're not actually betting, kesesese."

Denmark thought about this. Now he really wanted to make this bet, and he wanted to bet on England. "On the other hand," he said slowly, "imagine how much goodwill you'd earn from Romano if he ever did find out that you bet on him. You'd probably have a whole year, a _whole_ _year_ of him not giving you any shit at all."

"Unless he lost."

"No. I bet just knowing that you chose him would be a good deterrent! Even _if_ he lost."

"I know what you're trying to do, Den. You want to bet on England, so you're trying to talk me into betting on Romano." He splashed Denmark rather thoroughly, cackling.

"Hey! Knock it off!" Den reached over and shoved him underwater.

Prussia came up spluttering. "You oaf."

"You know you love me."

"Pfft. Are we making this bet or not?"

"Are you going to bet on Romano?"

"What are the terms of the bet?" Prussia splashed him again, just for good measure.

"Oaf yourself. Well, tomorrow's the match, and then we have one more full day before we go home. Let's say loser buys dinner on the day after the match? It'll be our last real dinner here. Let's make it a good one."

"All right. I'll awesomely bet on Romano. Don't tell him we had this discussion, though!"

"Kesesese," Denmark joked, just before pushing Prussia underwater again.

…

When they came out of the water, England was lying on his back, asleep in the sun; Romano had moved under the beach umbrella and was reading. "Bastard, are you sure this sunscreen is going to work? England's looking a little pink on his back. That's why I made him sleep that way instead of face-down."

"It's awesomely all right, I tell you. Look at me! Perfectly normal, and I've been out in the water, where the sun is reflected even more strongly."

"You are looking a little pink, though," Denmark said critically, looking him over.

"I'm telling you, West knows what he's doing. I've been using this sunscreen ever since we got here. No sign of sunburn, not even on the water park day. You two are a couple of worrywarts."

"Cheh, whatever. If this bottle was a fail, don't come crying to me."

"I'll go crying to Den," Prussia agreed cheerfully, pulling another soda out of the backpack.

For a little while, everyone settled in and daydreamed, or read. A group of fit mothers with young children walked back and forth in front of them a few times, but only Romano responded, with a sweet smile and a wave at the children. "Kesesese," Prussia said quietly, at this.

"Shut up," Romano replied just as quietly, still smiling at the women. Eventually they, too, walked away, possibly because Denmark's snores had gotten so loud.

…

Romano woke up, chilled. "_Chigi_! Hey, we fell asleep, wake up!" Dammit, it was almost sundown!

The other three fought their way out of sleep. "Uh?" Denmark said.

"Bollocks. Even _with_ your amazing suncream I feel like I got burnt." England looked down at his body. "Well, the front looks okay. How does my back look?" He stood up.

"Whew," Den whistled. "You look really pink. Pull your waistband down."

England did this. "Bastard, what the hell? Your back is like a fucking lobster!" Romano shoved the still-sleepy Prussia. "You moron. You and that stupid asshole brother of yours. Look what you did!"

"Huh?" Prussia yawned. "I don't get it, though. Because I really have been using it every day the last few weeks." He rummaged in his bag and pulled out a bottle. "Oh, shit."

"Uh-oh. What did you do to poor England?" Denmark punched him.

"This is just moisturizer. This is the stuff I use at night. Oops."

"What the fuck did you even pack that for?" Romano punched him, this time.

"Everybody stop punching me! Den packed the bag, not me."

"_Denmark,_" England growled, but then he stopped himself. "No, wait a minute. I picked up the bottle, and I read it. That's why I asked you about it."

Prussia dug through the bag again. "Yeah, here it is. Wow, those bottles do look really similar."

Romano put his head in his hands and groaned. "You idiot. Now I'm going to have to put up with his whining all night."

"Kesesese!" Prussia moved away before Romano could punch him again.

"No sense getting vindictive about it, gits," the island nation sighed. "Let's just go back to the hotel. Maybe a cool bath will help me."

"At least we had a fun day at the beach," Denmark added, hoping to find the silver lining, as they packed up their gear and left.

…

_The Euro Cup quarterfinals are this Sunday, June 24, at 2:45PM EST on ESPN. I won't be writing, because I'll have a plate of fish and chips, some tomatoes, and some ale, wearing my Skirmish Brothers hat and cheering on both teams at the same time!_

_Expect an update sometime soon after the conclusion of the match, probably Monday._


	47. Italy versus England

**Italy versus England.**

"I feel _so good_ today," the island nation said, as the four friends headed down to the hotel bar at midmorning. "I feel great, healthy as hell, and England is going to win!"

"Bullshit," Romano laughed, poking him. "I feel just as great, you know, and dammit, Italy is going to win."

"Kesesese! I'm glad you two aren't fighting, although I suppose it's just a matter of time, huh?"

"No. Romano and I are mature adults and we made an agreement to behave like gentlemen today. It's just a game, after all." They turned to face each other and nodded sedately.

"I just hope it's a fun match to watch. Nothing worse than boring football." Denmark was in a pretty good frame of mind, too. Since he'd talked Prussia into betting on Romano, he was pretty certain of a win on England's part, and a win of the bet, trivial though it actually was.

The four of them slipped into a booth. "Hey, this bar is great," Prussia noticed. "I didn't pay much attention when we were here the other night, but they have TVs at all the right angles! I don't even have to crane my neck."

Denmark looked at his friends, opponents for today, who were sitting together on the opposite side of the booth. "Are you two sure you want to sit next to each other?"

"Why the fuck not? I'm not going to sit next to the albino potato."

"Hey, maybe we should." Prussia nodded. "Because then – ow!" He gave Denmark a funny look and then his face cleared.

Denmark tried to act nonchalant. "Sorry, my elbow slipped." Of course everyone seemed suspicious of that, so he picked up a menu and began browsing to hide his guilty face. Prussia did the same.

By the time the waitress came, the noise level at their table was already fairly loud. England treated them all to an introductory round of ale while they waited for their early lunch.

"I hate beer," Romano said, drinking it.

"Just drink it." England, beaming, poked him.

"If you think you're going to get me drunk and make me lose my concentration, forget it, bastard."

"That was the furthest thing from my mind. Not sporting at all."

"Thank you." Romano nodded solemnly.

"You're welcome." They shook hands. "I'm so full of energy! My people are pumped and bloody optimistic." England then shook hands with both Prussia and Denmark, in his excess of enthusiasm.

"No shit. Mine are too." Romano, not to be outdone, bumped fists with his friends. "There must be a ton of Italian football fans here in America, because, let me tell you, today feels even better than when I'm at home and we play for the cup." He took a deep breath and stretched his arms to the ceiling.

"Hey, that makes me wonder," Prussia asked them. "When Italy as a nation does something like this, do you have to, well, share that feeling with Veneziano? Or do you both feel the whole benefit of the people?"

"You ought to know, albino potato; you and your bastard brother are just the same way."

"Well, yeah, but we didn't have things like this back when I was a real nation. I do get a little bit of benefit, but I'm so happy and optimistic all the time that I barely notice."

Everyone ignored that and drank, and then Romano answered the question. "But, yeah, my fratello and I both feel pretty fucking good about stuff like this. And we have every right to! Because we're going to win!"

"Wanker. You're not. I guarantee it."

This was interrupted by the waitress bringing their food. The inevitable fish and chips for England ("I hope it's tolerable"), a plate of pasta with chicken for Romano ("Cheh, it'll do") and burgers with fries for the other two.

Gameplay commenced while they ate and drank. "Huh. Italy's looking damn good," Prussia announced with a fake, beaming grin.

"You know, I'm surprised you gits didn't make a dumb bet about this." England, focused on his food, didn't notice the death glare that Denmark directed at Prussia, who polished off his beer very quickly.

But Romano did notice. "You did make a bet, didn't you? You total bastards!" He leaned over the table and grabbed Prussia by the shirt collar. "What's the fucking bet? Come on, tell me!" He shook the albino violently.

"Let go of me! Damn, Romano, you're as bad as Denmark. How did you know we made a bet?"

Denmark put his head in his hands. "Why the hell do I even bother?" he asked of no one in particular, then put Prussia in a headlock. "You idiot."

"Ow. Come on, Den, let go. Somebody let go of me!"

Romano let go and sat back down. "I can't believe you bastards bet on us."

Denmark let go of Prussia with a frown. Prussia just shrugged and drank some beer.

"Don't worry, Romano," England smiled. "They probably both bet that England will win." He leaned over and pecked a kiss on his infuriated boyfriend's nose.

"_Chigi! _Shut up!" Romano shoved him.

England immediately lost his playful smile and began growling; the two of them started shouting at each other, getting right in each other's face. Den and Prussia, meanwhile, sat back and drank, hoping Romano had forgotten about the bet.

He shoved England one more time, knocking him off-kilter, and on screen, the Italian player kicked the ball towards the goal.

England bounced up off the seat as the English goalkeeper made a save. "Stop shoving, wanker. Settle down; we're only in the beginning of the first half."

"Bastard." Romano drank the rest of his beer very quickly. "Who bet on what?"

Den and Prussia looked at each other, and then Denmark made a motion to allow the albino to speak. "Well, Romano, you know I love you, so…I totally bet on Italy."

"_What?_" Romano was red-faced and England began laughing at him. "You stupid bastard! You're going to jinx me!"

By now both the others were all laughing at him and he picked up his beer to fling at Prussia, but the glass was empty.

"You can't seriously be mad at me!" Prussia looked totally baffled, and Denmark was in hysterics. "Den convinced me you'd go a whole year without being mad at me, if I bet on you!"

Romano growled and stood up to grab Prussia's shirt collar and start shaking him again. "Convinced you? _Convinced _you? You fucking idiot! You wanted to bet on England, but Den made you bet on me?" Shake, shake, shake.

"Stop! Oh, Romano, stop, I'm going to be sick."

The half-nation abruptly let go and Prussia sank into his seat, groaning and leaning against Denmark. "Ohhh…"

"Cheer up, Teutonic Knights; you still have a chance to win the bet."

"I hate you, Den."

Denmark pinched his white cheek. "Hate you too, you adorable little thing. Drink your beer."

Romano was still fuming, so England reached over and squeezed his hand. "Don't worry about it. I bet you have at least a 25% chance of winning." He smirked.

"You bastard. I think I'm going to break up with you." He scowled into his beer.

"Don't do it, Romano," Den pointed out. "You know you love him." He grinned.

"I hate all you bastards. Shut the fuck up."

England downed his drink and cheered as the English goalkeeper made another save. "Yesss! We are so awesome." He did a little dance in the booth seat. "Come on, Romano, don't be sour. We were going to be gentlemen about it, right? It's not my fault Gilbert's such a wanker. Come on." He put his chin on Romano's shoulder and whispered something in his ear, making the brunet smile.

"Cheh, yeah, all right." He motioned the waitress for another round of drinks.

"Beer again, Romano? You're really being tolerant today."

"Listen, albino potato, I –"

But Denmark interrupted before this could escalate. "Your players are looking good, Romano."

The dangerous fucking bastards stopped their fighting for a little while to watch the match. Italy as a team was indeed playing very well. They had excellent control and looked coordinated; the English team looked sloppy by comparison, running around madly and not accomplishing much. Denmark was beginning to wonder if he'd made a mistake, betting on the island nation.

But it was early yet, only about halfway through the first period. There was plenty of time.

"This fish and chips is terrible."

"What did you expect? America's not known for his fish and chips, Arthur."

"It doesn't even taste of fish! Bloody idiot."

"Did you ever try teaching him to cook?" Denmark wondered.

"Don't answer that, bastard." Romano elbowed England. "Pay attention to the match. Look how good we look!" He sighed happily. "My team is awesome. We're going to cream those fucking bastards."

England punched him in the arm, fairly hard, and an Italian player fell down on the field. "Shut it!"

"Whoops. Sorry." Romano did look moderately contrite for a minute but then turned back to the game. "_Vaffanculo!_ That stupid ref needs a new pair of fucking glasses!"

England shoved him again. "Just because your bloody players can't walk and chew gum at the same ti—"

Prussia and Denmark, now with fresh beer, sat back and enjoyed both shows: the football match and the drama unfolding across the table. The two opponents were yelling at each other again. Italy tried to score; England made a save. "Hah!"

"Shut up, you idiot. Just because you made a save? We are going to win, you know." Romano dragged his eyes away from England and met those of Denmark, who was smirking at him. "And you, you fucking traitor, I can't believe you wanted to bet on England and not me!"

"'S just a little bet," Denmark laughed into his beer. "Not like I'm going to take all Prussia's casino money if I win."

"How much of that have you got left, anyway?" England wondered.

"About half. I invested it, and some of my stocks went up, and some went down."

"Just like life." Denmark nodded. "So you have plenty to buy dinner with tomorrow."

"Shut the fuck up about your stupid bet. We should make a rule, no betting on each other."

"Nope! Unawesome, Romano. You know Den has his betting complex. He'd never be able to follow that rule."

"Prussia. Shut up! Watch the match." Denmark needed another drink.

"Ten minutes left," England pointed out cheerfully, grinning at the TV screen.

"What? What the hell was that?" Romano erupted, as a replay showed an English player grabbing an Italian player's shirt. "Grabby bastards! What the fuck is that ref thinking? Why didn't he call that?"

"England's going to win, England's going to win," England sang.

Romano turned in the seat to face him. "If you don't shut up with all this goddamn patriotic shit I'm going to beat the daylights out of you."

"Yeah? You and whose football team?"

Once again the two went forehead to forehead, screaming and shoving, and Prussia and Den were laughing at them.

And then all of a sudden Romano's eyes widened as he looked at England, and England's eyes widened as he looked at Romano. "We should settle this outside the bar," Romano said quickly, breathlessly.

"Right. See you wankers after the half." The two of them went running out of the bar together.

"That was kind of random," Denmark said. "They weren't really being _that_ bad."

"Kesesese. Want to make another bet?"

"What? Don't you think we're in enough trouble already for betting?"

"No, this is a little one, and it makes sense. I bet Arthur will have a black eye before we split up to go to bed tonight."

"He was a _pirate!_ You really think he'd let Romano punch him in the eye? Not taking that bet."

"All right. Party pooper. I'm going to check, though, just for the fun of it. Romano's so wound up he could totally do it."

"Bullshit." Den burped and drank. "Anyway, I don't think they're actually fighting right now. They'll settle it their own private way."

"_Oh._" Prussia blushed a little as he realized what Den was driving at. "You really think that's what they'll do?"

"Hey, I'd do it, if you and I were fighting like that."

"Hah. Wish I'd known that. I would have fought with you on the day that you played West."

"I was a little worried about that match," Denmark confessed. "Didn't want to call attention to it, so I didn't say anything."

"Aw. Den. You're adorable."

"Yeah, I know. Drink up; it's almost time for the second half, and those two ought to be back soon."

…

When Romano and England came back into the bar, both smiling faintly and acting rather calm, they slipped into the booth together, and Prussia burst out laughing. "No bruises, I hope?"

"We'll see," England said enigmatically, and Denmark started laughing, too.

The second half was much the same as the first, except that Denmark started yelling at the players too. "Those Italians are drama queens," he grumbled.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Romano thundered. "What?"

"Look at them! They're totally playing for sympathy. That guy fell down and started whining and there was nobody else even near him!"

"He hurt himself, bastard. He fell down because he hurt his leg."

"Yeah, so explain why the Italian team is getting grabby all of a sudden? Your blind ref finally started calling it every time one of England's players grabbed a shirt, but he's letting the Italians slide? This is a cheap match." Denmark shredded a napkin and threw the pieces into his empty beer glass.

"Ah, just let them play, Den." Prussia poked him. "It's going to be interesting, no matter what happens."

"You mean, when England wins."

Romano got a bit of a devious look on his face and picked up a menu, holding it up like a shield so that Prussia and Denmark couldn't see him and England.

"Whoa! Italy score!" Prussia yelled, dancing in the seat.

Romano threw the menu down, smirking, and the red-faced England was furious. "You _bloody bastard._"

"No, he was offside," Den said, trying to calm England down. "No goal."

"Ha bloody ha," the island nation sang. "You'll have to try harder next time."

"Believe me, bastard, I will."

England punched him, and Romano punched back.

As they continued fighting, Prussia leaned over and said quietly, "See, Den? You should have taken that bet!"

Romano stopped fighting immediately; England's final shove sent him back against the wall. "Now what fucking bet?"

"Nothing. We didn't make it, so it's completely immaterial. Have a beer."

"No way! I have to concentrate so the stupid island bastards don't win." Romano put his elbows on the table and tried to ignore England, who was disheveled and red-faced but grinning again.

Moments later the game ended with no score. "Dammit, another half hour of overtime? Dammit!" Romano smacked the table. "Come on, bastards, score!" he yelled at the television.

Prussia poked him. "Hey, Romano."

"What?"

"You know whoever wins today goes on to play West on Thursday."

Romano didn't change his position, but all the blood drained from his face. "Dammit."

England put an arm around him and squeezed. "You have nothing to worry about."

"You do!" The brunet punched him again and soon they were in another squabble. This one lasted until the end of the first fifteen-minute overtime period.

"Geez, take a break, you two. It's almost over." Denmark waved the waitress away when she came back for another drink order.

"Why did you stop ordering beer?" the albino wondered.

"Are you kidding? If these two have any more beer they'll kill each other, and then us!"

"Oh, right."

"Denmark, you have mortally wounded my soul," England declaimed, but Romano just snorted at him.

"Game on," he said, tiredly, nodding towards the TV screen.

England was looking a little haggard, too, and by the end of the second overtime, the score was still 0-0. "Wow," Denmark enthused. "Never saw a match like this one!"

"Kesesese! Well, you did say you didn't want to watch a boring match."

Players lined up for penalty kicks. All four nations held their breath.

"Yes!" Romano stood up in the booth and cheered.

"Ha ha!" England did the same, shoving Romano aside.

Italy's second player missed the kick, and the half-nation sunk to the table, face in his hands. "Oh, no, no, no, no…" he whimpered quietly, listening to England crow and caper when the second English player scored.

But within minutes the match was over; Italy had won on penalty kicks. "Bastards. I'll treat to dinner tomorrow. Best dinner in town." A beaming Romano stood up in the booth and took a bow, ignoring the fallen England, whose head was on the table. "Let's go ask the concierge where to eat."

"Congratulations." Denmark solemnly shook the brunet's hand.

"Awesome way to win, Romano! Kesesese!" Prussia tried to give him a kiss but Romano squirmed away.

"You played well," Denmark said, poking England.

"Eh."

"Oh, come on, bastard, stop being such a – a _party pooper_," Romano laughed. "Come on. Let's get out of here."

"Ohh…" England moaned, not moving.

"Let me out of the fucking booth, stupid." Despite the usual harsh language, the Italian was grinning maniacally.

Denmark got out of his side of the booth and dragged England out. "Ow. Stop pulling, git."

"Why do you think you didn't do well?" Den asked him. "I thought you'd do better than you did."

"I hurt all over, because of the bloody _sunburn._"

"Kesesese! And it was all Den's fault that you got sunburned! Ha, Den, you sabotaged your own bet!" Prussia came out of the booth with his arm around Romano, the two of them laughing and jabbing the morose blonds.

"Prussia, you drive me nuts."

But Romano took Prussia's face in his hands and gave him a little kiss on the nose, along with a wicked smile. "Thanks for betting on me, albino potato. Sorry I bit you in the nose that time."

"Awesomely all right, my friend. Come on; let's go do something to cheer these losers up."

"_Gilbert…"_

…

The afternoon had not gone well. England had been sulky and tired all day, despite Prussia's attempts to cheer him up. And Romano had pretty much ignored him. Instead, the brunet and Prussia had been equally obnoxious, laughing, joking, hugging each other. Denmark hadn't been too happy either.

It was late when they got back to the hotel. "Arthur, come here," Prussia said, as they split up to go into their hotel rooms.

"What now?" But he came closer.

Prussia took his friend's head in his hands and turned it this way and that, examining it closely. "Well, you would have won, Den," he sighed, patting England on the back.

"Bastards."

"See you tomorrow morning? We have to figure out what to do for our last day."

"Cheh, yeah. All right. Nine o'clock?"

"Sounds good to me! Kesesese!"

…

"Get in the other bed," England growled, once he was ready for bed.

"As if I'd sleep in the same bed with you. You're a complete self-centered bastard. I never saw anybody so whiny about a stupid game before. You made the whole fucking day miserable."

"Like you would have been any different, if you'd lost? You're bloody miserable _all the time_. So shut it and leave me alone."

"Suit yourself, loser."

England rolled over so his back was to Romano, and the brunet got in the other bed with his back to England.

There was a resolute silence.

Then Romano got up and turned off the lights, which he had forgotten to do. Should he say good night? Nah. The bastard was too uptight. Well, let him sleep alone, it would serve him right. He didn't deserve any cuddling, not with a champion nation like Italy. Hah.

…

In the middle of the night Romano woke up and automatically rolled over to snuggle up to England, before remembering the blond was in the other bed. Dammit.

He lay on his back, now fully awake, and stared at the ceiling. Shit. Both of them had shown a pretty serious lack of sportsmanship today.

But, hell, he wasn't going to go creeping over into the other bed! That wasn't the mark of a champion. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep.

…

England woke up, in the dark; the clock said 4:30. He tried to peer at Romano in the other bed, but couldn't see him very well in the dark.

Bollocks. He'd been pretty rude to his friend, who had played so well. And they'd said they'd be gentlemen about it. The island nation debated going over to the other bed and then changed his mind. He knew Romano would give him shit about it. Sighing, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

…

When the sun peeked in through the slit in the curtains, England opened his eyes; he turned his head towards Romano, still half asleep.

But as he woke fully and began to focus, he noticed Romano was staring right back at him. England didn't bother to look away, or close his eyes. Maybe Romano _would_ break up with him? Maybe this was the last time they'd be together. So he looked and looked, taking in every detail, smiling faintly, reminiscing, trying not to feel too sad.

"You're thinking some sappy thoughts, aren't you?"

"Er. Yes." He felt himself blushing.

"Uh. Me too." Romano broke the intense stare. "Can I – can I get in the bed with you?"

England's expression changed to a bright smile. "Of course you can." He opened up the covers and Romano slipped in, shyly. "Sorry."

"Yeah, me too, bastard. You – uh – you played well."

"So did you, my champion."

…

When Prussia and Denmark moved to open the connecting door, they found a note had been slid underneath it. Prussia opened it and read it. "Kesesese! They want us to go have fun without them; they'll see us for dinner."

Denmark blew out a sigh of tension. "Good; I'm glad everything's all right. Come on, Teutonic Knights. Let's go see something fun in Hollywood."


	48. Wrapping Up

**Wrapping Up.**

"You know what, Den? I'm kind of glad we can be alone today. I feel a little more relaxed."

"Glad to hear it." Denmark ruffled Prussia's hair. "What are we going to do now?"

After a busy morning of visiting all the shops and attractions Prussia had missed, or wanted to return to, including the macabre Museum of Death (which they both knew Romano would never nerve himself up to enter), they had gone back to Pink's for a low-key lunch and were now heading back towards the hotel, laden with the albino's souvenirs. "Well, frankly I can't believe you didn't buy more souvenirs! We should get you something awesome."

"Hey, I have the memories; I don't need any souvenirs. Right?" He grabbed Prussia right in the middle of the sidewalk and kissed him.

"Wow. That's a good memory."

"Best one of the whole vacation? Hah. Now shut up about souvenirs."

"Well, I hope I can fit all this into my awesome wheeled Danish suitcase."

"If not, I can probably stow some for you."

"Kesesese. You're so good to me."

They walked along, talking of nothing much, until – "Is that Romano? What's he doing just standing around?"

"Hey! Romano!" Prussia ran right up to the brunet, who was drinking a coffee on the sidewalk and looking irritated. "What's up? Why are you just standing around? Where's Arthur?"

Romano jerked a thumb towards the shop behind him. "Fucking yarn shop. He's looking for stuff to make the damn hats."

"Why aren't you in there with him? You need to make sure you like the yarn, too!"

By now Denmark had caught up. "Well?"

"Yarn stores are too fucking girly," Romano muttered, and his friends hugged him as best they could with hands full of shopping bags.

"Aw. Totally not true. Come on, let's all go in together."

"What have you bastards been doing?" Romano held the door for the package-laden friends.

Denmark recapped their day.

"Glad I wasn't with you. You won't get me to eat another hot dog."

"At least you tried it. I'm proud of you. I'd pat you on the head but my hands are full of bags."

"Save it, albino potato."

They found England in front of a shelf of thick, fluffy yarn, eyes closed, stroking it and smiling faintly. "Bastard, you're creeping me out," Romano said, jolting him.

"Oh!" The island nation opened his eyes. "Er. Hi. Feel this stuff! It's amazing." He held out a skein of white yarn to Prussia, who dropped a bag and took it.

"Whoa! Awesome indeed. Super fluffy. What's it made of?" He petted it and handed it to Romano, who began stroking it absently.

"Cashmere and mink. Apparently they – " But England could not continue speaking, because all three of his friends erupted in loud laughter, making the older ladies in the shop look at them disapprovingly. "What's so bloody funny?"

"I can't decide if we should, or should not, have white mink yarn for our hats," Denmark laughed, setting down his bags and hugging the now-scowling Prussia.

"Absolutely not. I was traumatized. Put it away, Arthur," he said airily, handing the yarn back.

"Anybody going to tell me what this is about?"

"No point, bastard. Come on, forget the fucking yarn. Let's go do something with these bozos."

"Yeah, all right. Wankers."

…

"So anyway," Prussia said, as they walked back to the hotel to dump the souvenirs, "since Thursday is Italy versus Germany, do you guys want to come over to watch the match? I'm pretty sure we'll be over our jet lag by then, and I bet Veneziano is going to come over. It would be like a party!"

"I don't mind, but I'm betting on Italy, just so you know," England said. Romano gave him a little smile.

"Me too," Denmark nodded fervently.

"What? Den! How could you? You know how good West's team is; they beat you."

"I'm still betting on Italy." He and Romano shook hands with a nod while England smirked in the background.

"Oh, what the hell. That's all right. We can sit on opposite sides of the room and cheer."

"Are you going to paint your face with the German flag?" Denmark wondered, pinching his cheek.

"No, no, no. Don't be silly. That kind of thing is for attention-seekers." Nobody responded to this. "What? What?"

"Gilbert, you are one hundred percent attention-seeker."

"Two hundred percent," Romano agreed.

"What? Oh, that's so not true. People pay a lot of attention to me, but I don't seek it."

"Don't be silly, Teutonic Knights. We know you, and we know you're an attention-seeker. But we still love you."

"Yeah," the other two chorused.

Prussia stayed in place while his friends walked on, and when they'd gotten a little way away, he yelled, "And I love all you guys!"

Romano facepalmed, but Denmark and England just laughed, seeing passersby turn to look at the loud albino, who now scurried forward to meet them. "Told you. A hundred percent."

Prussia grinned. "Yeah, maybe. Come on. My arms hurt."

…

Romano had spoken to the concierge about the best place for a celebratory dinner, and they'd chosen Musso and Frank. "Let's try to act adult tonight, bastards," he said, mainly to Prussia, as they entered the elegant restaurant. He was wearing his white linen suit from the modeling day and looked very fashionable.

"Kesesesese," the albino whispered back, "I can totally do it; watch me."

"Bet?" Denmark asked with a grin.

"I'll take that bet," England immediately replied. "He can't do it." He shook Den's hand.

"I agree with England." Romano shook Den's hand.

And Prussia stood pouting in the lobby.

"Dammit, don't stand there like an idiot. Prove us wrong."

"I awesomely will." Prussia sailed into the restaurant like a diva on parade, letting his friends follow more sedately.

Once they'd been seated and had placed their orders, the albino faced his friends with a serene smile on his face. "I don't care what anybody else thinks. This was a great vacation."

"I agree, bastard. What do you mean, 'what anybody else thinks'? I'm pretty sure we all think it was great."

England snorted. "It had its moments. I would have to disagree on the sunburn and the football loss."

"Don't worry about it," Denmark told him with a smirk. "Both of those are very transitory. You'll rise to become a great football nation again someday."

"Git." England punched him.

"What was your favorite memory?" Den then asked. "Mine was the water park, but you know, that was my birthday too, so…it was definitely the best for me."

"I bet Teutonic Potato didn't like that because he lost his trunks." Romano laughed at the memory. "Or am I wrong?"

"No, no." Prussia shook his head. "That was a good day, but it wasn't the best. I'd have to say the best day was…oh…I don't know! They're all so good!"

Everyone laughed at him. "So, you're all looking forward to the cruise?" England then asked.

"Bastard, you keep talking about this cruise. Are you angling for an invite?"

The island nation shook his head. "Absolutely not. For one thing, I'm going to be up to my arse in work when I get back. I don't think I could spare the time."

"And for another thing?"

"You gits earned it; you should have your own vacation. Don't worry about me."

Prussia nodded. "You can always do stuff with America if you're bored."

"I'm rarely _that_ bored anymore."

Conversation went on, reliving new memories, as the food arrived and was eaten. The friends were growing tired, looking forward to returning to a set routine for a while.

"Is there anything we wanted to do that we missed?"

"I'm glad we got to go to that late-night rooftop movie showing," Prussia laughed. "A very Hollywood thing to do."

"There's probably a ton of stuff we could have done and didn't, though." Denmark tried to think. "But we packed in a lot of stuff."

"Would you ever come back here?" Romano wondered. "I mean, did you like it enough to return to? I don't generally like to do that, because there are so many new places I want to see, but…this was a really good trip, and there are a lot of things we did, that I liked."

"I'd consider it." Prussia thought about this. "Depends on the money situation. Depends who came with me." He beamed at his friends; Romano scowled and shook his head, and Denmark punched him. "Ow. You're still an oaf."

"A big, muscular Viking oaf," Denmark agreed cheerfully, punching him again. "But you know, I beat you a lot in wars, so it makes sense that I continue to beat you now."

"Even though we're _dating?_" Prussia whined, punching him back (which had no effect at all).

"Even though you're dating," England laughed.

…

By the end of the meal the mellow friends were quite relaxed with each other, even Romano with Prussia, who had indeed behaved very well. Romano paid the bill and they left to walk back to the hotel. "Thank you, Romano," Prussia said, giving him a weak hug.

"No problem. Thanks for behaving yourself."

"Kesesese!" Prussia began leaping down the street. "It was difficult, but I did it! I win!"

"We never said what we were betting," Denmark countered, smug.

"Damn. Well, you knew I was awesome enough to win; that must be why."

They got to the hotel with Prussia still capering. "What time does our flight leave?"

"Noon. Not enough time for a lie-in," England grumbled. "Not if we have to be there three hours early."

"Dammit. I hate early flights."

Denmark was amazed. "You are the sleepiest nations I ever heard of!"

"Cheh. You forgot about Greece."

"Yes, and I'm too tired for any of your shite."

"Yes, all right. Go sleep, you sleepy boys. We'll see you in the morning."

"Good night, Den. Good night, Lucy."

"'Night, Ethel, good night, Romano."

"Bastards."

…

_I think I'm going to go back to the one-shot chapter style. I find it quite difficult to continue through with these multi-part things. Thanks for continuing to read my stories!_

_Thanks to the anonymous reviewer who reminded me about Greece._


	49. Epic Poetry

_Here's a little something I wrote for Skadiyoko, who urged me to share it with you all. Not really a real chapter, nor yet a dream. I'll have a real chapter later this week._

…

**Epic Poetry.**

Denmark was walking  
>In the forest one day<br>When a sexy albino  
>Stepped into his way.<p>

"Wow, you're a hot one,"  
>The white-haired man said.<br>"If you're feeling crabby,  
>I'll please you in bed!"<p>

But Denmark _was_ crabby  
>And not in the mood,<br>So he said, "Only if you can  
>Do it with food."<p>

"Kesesesesese!  
>With food it will be,<br>Come over and eat some  
>Red cabbage with me."<p>

The Dane was now worried  
>About this new friend<br>But determined to see it  
>Right through to the end.<p>

They sat at a table  
>Conveniently near,<br>And a big-browèd waiter  
>Brought cabbage and beer.<p>

"Now eat," the albino  
>Told Denmark with glee,<br>"And then we'll go have sex  
>Under that tree."<p>

He pointed to where  
>A big spreading oak grew,<br>Right next to an elm tree  
>And also a yew.<p>

"Whatever," said Den,  
>Chowing down on the grub.<br>"I'd rather make love to you  
>In a bathtub."<p>

"That's awesome! Let's do it  
>As soon as we're done.<br>With a big, hot, strong Viking,  
>That ought to be fun."<p>

They finished their meal,  
>Each wiping his lip,<br>And a surly dark waiter said,  
>"Bastards! No tip?"<p>

Den fished in his pocket  
>For a five-Euro note,<br>Threw it onto the table,  
>And said, and I quote,<p>

"That's all I have left,  
>My GDP's down,<br>From betting on football  
>When Spain won the crown."<p>

_"Chigi!"_ they heard,  
>And the drop of a platter,<br>They ran off before  
>The brunet could get madder.<p>

"Come on, sweet albino,  
>Let's go to my home,<br>Pour beer in the tub  
>and make love in the foam!"<p>

…

_It ain't Beowulf, I know._


	50. Wank Week

_There really was a Wank Week. Check it out on Wikipedia._

…

**Wank Week.**

"Here's the coffee, you guys." Denmark came out of his kitchen with a tray holding a coffeepot and three mugs.

"Thanks. Hey, is Arthur coming over?" Prussia elbowed Romano, who was reaching for a mug.

Romano flushed bright red but tried to act nonchalant. "Ah – uh – no. No, he's busy all week." He looked away.

"Too much nation work?" Den asked cheerfully. "I can see that."

"N-no. It's – it's – oh, it's too fucking stupid to talk about."

Prussia grinned, sipping his coffee. "What? Come on, tell us."

"It's – some stupid national thing. For the media." Romano sunk his head into his hands.

"Come on, Romano, you know you can tell us." Denmark's voice was reasonable and calm; Romano thought he might as well answer.

"It's – mumblemumble…"

"Didn't quite catch that."

"Wank Week!" Romano yelled, still red, and ground the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. "Dammit."

"_Wank_…Week?" Prussia thought he'd misheard.

"What the hell is Wank Week?" Denmark asked.

"I don't even want to know," Romano groaned. "As soon as he said that I told him to shut up and we didn't talk about it anymore."

"Look it up on the computer, Den! I bet if it's some big thing it'd be on there. You know Arthur always puts his stuff on Wikipedia when he can."

Denmark dutifully moved to the computer across the room and checked it out. "Ha ha ha!" he yelled after about a minute.

"What is it? What?" Prussia got up off the couch and scurried over to Den's side. Romano stayed put, head still in hands.

"Well, first of all they're going to be showing a bunch of television shows that focus on masturbation." Denmark snorted a little.

"But that's not such a big deal. West has those kind of shows all the time."

"Shut up! I don't want to hear about your freaky bastard brother and his stupid sex habits, dammit!"

The others ignored this. "That's not all, though." Denmark read from the article. "There are going to be group masturbation sessions around the country to raise money for charity."

Now Prussia began laughing, too, and Romano lay down on the couch and pushed his face into the pillows. "Kesesese! I bet he's enjoying that! We should go see him."

A warning "_Bastard…_" came from the pillows.

"Oh, calm down, Romano. I didn't mean we'd go there to take part in the masturbation sessions. Unless you really want to," the albino grinned.

"Argh!" Romano sat up and threw a pillow at Prussia. "Will – you – shut – _up_?" Fucking albino idiot.

"I think Prussia's right, though," Den said, still chuckling a little. "We could at least go see him, make sure he's all right. A whole week of that is bound to take it out of any nation, and it's been going on for four days."

"Awesome! Call him up, Romano, and tell him we're coming over."

Romano sighed in defeat and reached for the telephone.

…

Romano opened England's door with his spare key. "Don't let the perverted bastard in, if he shows up. All right? That was the only thing England really said."

"Damn, no kidding. France would be all over this. Wonder if he's been pestering him?"

"Come on; let's put all this stuff in the kitchen." Prussia and Denmark hauled bags into the kitchen while Romano locked the front door behind them.

"Hey, I'm going to go up and see how he's doing. Just bring the shit up when it's ready. But – uh – knock before you come in!" Romano felt his face burning and turned away.

"Okie doke!" Prussia called out, already in the kitchen.

Romano ran up the stairs to England's bedroom and stopped short when he went inside. The island nation was lying in bed, pale and weak. A carafe and cup of water stood on the nightstand, next to an open package of paracetamol, and England's wrist had a brace on it. Romano almost snorted. Well, might as well make the best of it. "Hello, wanker," he said cheerfully.

England just groaned.

The brunet walked to the bed and sat on the edge, taking his friend's weakened hand. "Are you all right? We brought some things that might help you. I didn't realize things would be this bad."

Prussia and Denmark burst into the room carrying supplies. "What did you bring?" England groaned.

The albino carried a tray with about twenty little cups on it. "Vitamins and Gatorade," he grinned. "Are you hanging in there, Arthur? Wanking not too much for you?"

Romano punched the bed and scowled, but England just reached out his unbandaged hand for a cup of Gatorade. "Thanks," he moaned, trying to sit up.

"Wow, you're really wiped out, aren't you?" Denmark took a cup for himself.

"Gits. You know, there are still a lot of uptight people in the UK, who don't want to admit they masturbate."

"So that's good; they're not doing it, so you should be fine!"

"Ah, don't be so dumb, Gilbert. They're all out there fucking like rabbits to prove they don't need to wank! I'm exhausted!" He washed down a few vitamins.

Denmark raised his eyebrows at the wrist brace, but didn't say anything.

"Kesesese! Aren't you, uh, participating?"

England flopped back on the bed. "Well, at first, I thought it would be kind of fun, even without Romano around (Ow! Stop punching me!), but…after the first day I could barely lift my arm."

Even Romano had to laugh at that. "Give me your hand," he said, and England weakly lifted his arm and put his hand in his boyfriend's. "Give me the cream, albino potato."

"Cream?" England yelled in a panic, sitting upright. Everyone laughed at him.

"Not that kind of cream, Arthur. Muscle rub, to help with the pain."

"Oh. Aha. All right." He scooted back so he was sitting against the headboard.

Romano deftly removed the wrist brace and began massaging Tiger Balm into England's wrist. Denmark took a towel from around his neck and mopped the island nation's sweating brow. "You can do it," he laughed.

"What were you gits going to do before you heard about this?"

"Nothing, really," Denmark admitted. "Hang around and shoot the shit all day, probably."

"Hah. Nothing new, then." England closed his eyes.

"Be strong, Arthur. There's only two more days left! We'll stay and cheer you on for a little while!"

"_Two_ days?" England moaned. "I thought it was over on Friday. Bollocks. I'm going to die."

"It is over on Friday," Denmark, who had read the whole article, said. "Why did you think it was two more days?" he asked Prussia.

"Isn't today Wednesday?"

"Idiot," Romano growled, knocking back a little cup of Gatorade.

…

Later, after England had had a short nap, Denmark fed him orange slices and mopped his head with the towel again. "How are you doing? Looking good!"

"Den, you sound like a bloody cheerleader. Stop. Please."

But Denmark and Prussia caught each other's eye and smiled. "We need to go to the kitchen," Prussia said, nodding feverishly. "Take care of him, Romano."

"Now what?" England asked, after they'd left.

"No fucking idea. They went out and bought some secret shit while I was getting the Gatorade and vitamins."

England groaned. "I can only imagine."

"Don't worry, stupid. If it's too annoying I'll throw them out." Romano bit his lip, and England started laughing.

"I'd like to see that," he confessed, just as the other two burst into the room.

"Ta-da!" Prussia announced, shaking some red, white and blue pompoms enthusiastically. He was still wearing his t-shirt, but had changed into a little red-and-white striped, pleated skirt. A red bow was now clipped in his hair. Denmark wore his regular clothing, but sported matching pompoms and a blue bow in his hair.

"Holy fucking shit," Romano said with a dropped jaw, but the other three were all grinning.

"Nice pompoms, Gilbert."

Prussia shook the pompoms and blew England a kiss.

"Give him some more Gatorade, Romano," Denmark directed, before he and Prussia tried to do a cheer in the confines of England's bedroom.

"Arthur is a wanker! Strong and proud! Wave your sore wrist and say it loud!" Prussia kept shaking the pompoms and began to jump up and down.

Romano lay down on the bed and covered his head with a pillow, but…he couldn't _not look_, and quickly pulled it away. With his uninjured arm, England reached for his hand and held on tight.

"Go, England, go!" Den yelled, shaking his pompoms. "Hang in there! Soon it will be over, and you – uh – won't care?" He stopped shaking as he tried to come up with a better rhyme. "Sorry, that was kind of lame."

But England was beaming. "You gits really are the best. You know that?"

"Yeah, we know it, bastard," Romano told him with a poke.

"What are you talking about, Romano? You didn't even do a cheer! I think he meant Den and me, kesesese."

The brunet scowled, but England hastily said, "All of you, all of you, all right?" He leaned over and pecked a little kiss on Romano's cheek, which diverted him from his anger at Prussia, but now made him mad at the island nation.

"Chigi! Not in front of other people!" Childishly, he scrubbed his cheek with the back of his hand.

"Aw," Prussia said, and the Fail Brothers chorused, "You know you love him."

"Dammit! Shut the fuck up!" Romano stuffed his head under the pillow again. Really, sometimes he wondered just what the hell he was doing, wasting his life on all these idiotic bastards.

Then he felt the bed shake. A lot. He removed the pillow to find both Denmark and Prussia had joined them on the bed. "Hope the bed can handle all this," England laughed. "Why aren't you wearing a skirt, Den? Gilbert looks so pretty; I bet you would too."

"Couldn't find one that fit," Prussia told them all. "I made him try on about ten skirts, but…it didn't work out." He waggled his eyebrows. Both Denmark and Romano were now blushing.

"Well, you did a great job. Give me the towel," England demanded, grabbing it and mopping his forehead.

"Are you really going to live through this? I can't stay and cheer you on all week; I have nation work I need to get back to," Denmark said.

"Yes, I'll live through it. I should have made a video of your cheer, and then I could watch it over and over after you left." The island nation snorted, and Romano punched him.

"I can stay," Prussia said with a grin. "Move over, Romano, I want to snuggle up next to Arthur."

"Forget it, bastard! I don't want him thinking about _you_ while all this wanking is going on." Romano fiercely defended his position next to England, who put an arm around him and hugged him.

"Selfish, Romano, you're a hundred percent selfish." Prussia pouted.

"I know." Romano stuck out his tongue.

"This isn't getting any work done," England said, and the other three laughed.

"You want us to leave, so you can – uh – you know?" Den asked delicately.

"Just for a few minutes?" England started to look distracted and began to fidget on the bed.

"Yes, we can leave, dammit." Romano shoved Prussia off the bed and got up himself. "Come on, bastards, leave him alone."

"You don't want to stay and awesomely help? Kesesese!"

"I really am going to kill you someday, you idiot," Romano said, as they walked out the door.

…

Ten minutes later they heard a thumping and rushed upstairs. Pale and weak, England was sitting up against the headboard with a big grin on his face. "Thanks, gits. I needed that."

Romano turned red again and scowled at the floor, but Prussia patted England on the head. "Good for you, Arthur."

"Pass me the paracetamol."

After washing down some pain medication, England invited his friends to sit on the bed again, and they talked of this and that. Romano held his stronger hand calmly.

"I think I'll make it," England said with a weak smile, later, after all the Gatorade and vitamins had been consumed.

"Good for you." Denmark got off the bed and kissed his friend's forehead. "Stay strong. I've got to go."

Prussia had a fond look in his eye as he gazed at England and Romano holding hands. "I'll come with you, Den, as long as Arthur thinks he'll be all right?"

England nodded, squeezing Romano's hand. "Should be fine. Thanks so much for coming to cheer me on."

"Hey, if it's worth wanking, it's worth wanking well," Denmark laughed. "Behave yourselves. We can let ourselves out, all right? Just rest."

"Thanks, Den. Make sure you lock the door so the bloody frog doesn't sneak in. He's been phoning me all week about this."

Denmark nodded acknowledgement.

"See you bastards later."

"Call me later, Romano, because I want to talk to you about the cruise, all right? Kesesese!"

When Denmark and Prussia had left the room, Romano finally began to relax. "Wonder if the albino potato's going to wear that skirt all the way home?"

England snorted. "Bet he will. And he'll have fun with it."

"Never going to get me in a fucking skirt," Romano said, just to set the record straight.

"That's fine with me. As long as I can get you into my arms." England smiled sweetly at him, reaching for the towel to mop off his face.

"Never a problem with that, bastard." But then the brunet reconsidered. "As long as we're alone."

"We're alone now, demon." England held out his arms and Romano snuggled into them.

…

_You may not know that I reopened "Love in the Modern World" (which takes place in this same universe but focuses more on the England-Romano relationship). I couldn't decide whether this chapter should go in this story or that. Ultimately I decided it would be England's last hurrah in "Skirmish Brothers," just because all the others were in it. From now on all the England-centric (or England-Romano-centric) chapters in this universe will be in "Love in the Modern World." All four of them will continue to cross over between both stories periodically, though._

_Thanks for reading!_


	51. Lazy Day

**Lazy Day.**

"Hey," Romano said, looking up.

Prussia, under the turning leaves of the oak tree, grinned down at him. "Snoozing already? What do you do all day, that makes you want to sleep all the time?"

"Nothing, all right? It's just the way I am!" He tried to kick the albino and missed.

"Kesesese. You and Arthur were made for each other. Snoozetastic."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Romano pushed himself into a sitting position. "Where the hell is Denmark?"

"Calm down, all right? He'll be here."

"Cheh. He'd better get here. I'm tired of listening to you already."

Prussia sat down and hugged him. "I missed you too. How was the end of Wank Week?"

Romano snorted and pushed him away. "Fucking stupid. All he did was lay around and bitch all day."

"Is he still in bed?"

"Beats the hell out of me. I left."

"You're either a complete wimp, or the worst boyfriend in the world." Prussia punched him in the arm and Romano reciprocated.

"Shut up."

"Wow, you two are in fine form already," Denmark said, wandering up with a cup of coffee.

"Coffee! Why did you get coffee without us?" The albino jumped to his feet and took the cup from Denmark, only to find it was empty. "Empty already? Come on, get up, Romano. Den's going to buy us some coffee."

"Hah. No way. I'm broke."

Both Romano and Prussia stared at him. "Y-_you_ are _broke_, bastard?"

"Yes! My GDP's in a slump from betting all that money on Italy in the Euro Cup!"

"Kesesese!"

Romano was scowling. "Don't remind me." They started walking towards the coffee shop. "Uh. Who did you make bets with?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Prussia, of course! Who the hell else would I be making bets with? Sweden?" Denmark started laughing.

"So you bet on _Spain_, you stupid potato head?" Romano kicked Prussia in the shin. "Dammit!"

"Ow! No! I absolutely did not!" Prussia danced around, trying to avoid the kicks. "Tell him, Den! Tell him!"

But Denmark seemed to be enjoying the show, and let Romano continue to kick a bit before explaining about their bets. "Prussia made a mint off me that night."

"What the hell were you bastards betting on?" Romano then wondered, as they walked on.

"Well, our first bet was whether you and Arthur would kiss on televisi—ow! Come on, Romano, stop kicking." Prussia picked him up around the waist and held him in the air, where he feebly struggled for a moment. "Are you going to settle down or what?"

"Chigi! How could you bet on such a stupid thing?"

Denmark poked him. "How could we not? On a big screen TV you guys were larger than life."

"They _televised_ us kissing?" Romano turned bright red and covered his face with his hands. "Dammit. How stupid. Look. Let's just all shut up about the match, all right? It's over."

"Fine," said Denmark.

"Fine," said Prussia.

"And put me down, albino potato!"

Prussia dutifully set Romano back down, because he had carried him all the way to the coffee shop. "Sorry."

"Cheh, yes, whatever." Then Romano fished in his pocket for something. "Here. Got you this at the match." He thrust a Kiev souvenir spoon at his friend.

Prussia took it, examined it, and peered intently at the brunet without a word. None of the three moved from their position outside the shop. Romano kept staring at his shoes, and Prussia kept staring at Romano, and Denmark, perhaps wondering what Prussia would do, stared at him with a grin.

"Well? Are we going into the fucking coffee shop or not?" Romano finally barked.

"Kesesese! Just wondering how long it would take you to look up. Thanks for the spoon. It's awesome." He winked at Romano, who blushed again and hurried inside.

After they had coffee Denmark wondered what they were going to do today.

"Let's just go lie down under the tree. I'm beat, and not in the mood for paintball or any shit like that." Romano sipped his espresso delicately.

"That's all right with me." Denmark led the way.

…

"Are you two all ready for the cruise? I have my awesome Danish suitcase packed already."

"Bastard. We don't even leave until the end of October! Are you telling me you can live without all that shit for three more months?"

"Uh, well, probably not, but I'll just take them out of the suitcase and use them! It's not really a problem."

"Except that it's fucking idiotic."

"Totally Prussia's style, though, you have to admit," Denmark laughed.

Prussia backhanded him in the chest and set his empty coffee cup aside. "So, I figured out where we need to go for vacation next year."

"Dammit."

"Just listen. You know we all went to Kirkland, for Arthur, right? Well, I was looking at a map, and there's a town in Pennsylvania called Gilbertsville! Kesesese! We have to go there. We _have_ to."

"Why? What's there, potato brain? Not that I'm planning to vacation with you next year too."

"Well, there's actually nothing there. It's just a little rural town. But there's a road called Ludwig Road so I told West I'd go take a picture of the street sign for him."

"Chigi! Are you completely out of your gourd? You want to go all the way – no, you want to _drag us_ all the way to some stupid little town just to take a picture of a street sign for your bastard brother? No."

Denmark was laughing so hard he had to set his cup down. "Seriously, Prussia, that's kind of dumb."

But the albino did not take offense at either of these statements. "That's not the best part, though."

"Uh-oh."

"There's a bigger, better town not too far away. It's got one of the most awesome malls on the east coast, and there are hotels and all kinds of things to do, not too far from Philadelphia, which is a major historical city!"

"Count England out, then," Den pointed out. "You know he still has problems with all that Revolutionary War shit."

"American War of Independence," Romano said, and the other two frowned.

"What?"

"It's called the American War of Independence."

"No it isn't! It's totally called the Revolutionary War!" Prussia poked the brunet with his foot.

"Oh," Denmark realized. "The Americans call it the Revolutionary War. The British call it the American War of Independence."

There was a brief silence as the three friends considered this. Then: "Well, he's still not going to go with us, bastard. Uh – uh – I mean, not that _I'm _going to go, either, I'm just saying."

"Prussia, why did you choose this little town outside of Philadelphia, anyway? Just because it was near Gilbertsville?"

"Well, not entirely. It's awesomely called King of Prussia."

"_What?_ A town is called King of Prussia? That's the most asinine thing I ever heard, bastard."

"Like Italy doesn't have any stupid town names?" Denmark poked Romano. "Everybody has stupid town names."

"Cheh. King of Prussia is stupider than most."

"Shut up, Romano," Prussia said hotly, folding his arms. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know a stupid town name when I hear one!"

"Shut up, both of you fighting fucking coffee drinkers. It doesn't matter if it's a stupid town name or not, all right? What matters is whether it's worth going there on vacation or not."

"Not."

"Romano, you are really the worst. Why are we even friends with you?"

"Beats me, albino potato." Romano scowled.

For at least ten minutes all three of the dangerous fucking bastards were quiet.

"Because we're all awesome," Prussia then said with a decisive nod.

"Yeah."

"Yeah."

"Fine, now that that's settled," Denmark laughed, "what about this town? You really want to go there?"

Prussia shrugged. "I have to admit that for me personally, going to visit a town called King of Prussia – which is not actually in Prussia – would be amazing. But I understand that you two probably aren't that interested. Maybe I'll get West to go with me."

"Maybe you should go with America. I mean, he'd know all the best places, and then if he wanted to brag about his American War of Independence shit, it wouldn't bother m—anyone else." Romano was bright red after that statement, and he turned his head away.

His friends both gave him very sentimental looks before meeting each other's eyes and grinning. "Good idea," Denmark said neutrally.

"Is he still with Austria, potato brain?"

"As a matter of fact, no. I just saw Austria last week and he's with Swissy again."

"Austria's a whore," Denmark said, and they all cracked up.

"No. It's like I said before. He and Swissy have too much of a history together. They're planning an awesome romantic vacation together."

"Huh. Now America's on the loose again, bastards. Who will he end up with next?"

The Skirmish Brothers tried to think of a suitable partner for America.

"Hah. Hungary," Prussia suggested with a laugh.

"Are you nuts? You know how long that would last?"

"I know, Den! I was just joking."

"Hungary doesn't take shit from anybody," Romano agreed.

"How about Belarus?" Denmark suggested.

Romano visibly shivered, but Prussia just shook his head. "She'd never do it. She thinks he's an idiot."

"Cheh. He is an idiot."

"But a fun, cute idiot, you have to admit." Denmark drummed his fingers on the ground, thinking. "You know what would be funny? To get America together with Swissy, and see what happened."

"That…would be interesting, bastard."

"Kesesese! They could have a threesome!"

Romano kicked him. "Stupid albino potato. You have such a fucking dirty mind!"

"Oh, come on, Romano, don't tell us that didn't occur to you, too. I know that's what you were thinking." Prussia pinched his cheek, and Romano smacked his hand away.

_"Chigi!"_ He scowled. "But…yeah, I was."

The other two laughed. "Well, why don't we make that our mission? We can try to get them together at the next meeting!" Prussia lay back, self-satisfied.

"You said you didn't want to go to Japan," Denmark remembered. "That's where the next meeting is."

"Oh. Yeah. But, well, for an awesome project like this one, I'd totally go. You going, Romano?"

The brunet considered. "The only thing that worries me about this 'awesome project' is Swissy's guns! What if he finds out we're trying to manipulate him, and shoots us?"

"Swissy won't shoot me. He loves me."

"Everybody loves you, Teutonic Knights."

"Don't make me sick, bastards. But just because he wouldn't shoot _you_ doesn't mean he wouldn't shoot Denmark, or – or me."

"I'll just take my axe along," Den said cheerfully. "It's always handy at Japanese meetings. Swissy won't shoot me."

"Buh – wha – well, that's fine for you, you stupid Viking bastard, but that means Swissy's only going to have me left to shoot at!" Romano looked very panicky.

With a shared nod, Prussia and Denmark moved to embrace their terrified friend. "Don't worry," Prussia crooned, stroking his hair, "we won't let Swissy shoot you."

"Stop playing with my hair, dammit!"

Denmark squeezed him around the middle and Prussia left off playing with his hair. "If Swissy threatens you, I'll take care of him." He grinned somewhat evilly. "In fact I might almost wish that he _did_ threaten you. It's fun to play with my axe."

"I'll say," Prussia said, waggling his eyebrows.

"Shut the fuck up!" Romano squirmed away from them and sat a few feet away. "Why is it always innuendo shit with you?" he scowled at Prussia. "I'm going to take my Kiev spoon back."

"No, no, no!" Prussia cried out, theatrically falling to the ground and clutching his heart. "Oh, Romano, please don't take the spoon, the symbol of our so-awesome friendship! I might die!"

The brunet's expression turned a little evil, too, and then he jumped on the albino. "That might be worth it," he snarled, wrestling him for the spoon. "Give me the fucking spoon back."

"No, no, no!" Prussia continued to cry out. "Don't take my awesome spoon!"

"Give me the damn spoon!"

"No!"

Denmark leaned back against the tree to watch. "Give him the spoon, Prussia. Call his bluff."

The albino immediately stopped struggling and held the spoon out to Romano. "Here."

Romano scowled again, first at Denmark, then at Prussia. "Keep the fucking spoon." He sat back and hid his face in his hands.

"Kesesese!"

…

As the sun set the three friends got up to head for home. "So it's settled? We'll go to the Japan meeting and try to shoehorn Swissy and America into a date?" Denmark grinned. "That's going to be fun."

"Yeah, I'll go, bastards. Can't let you two have all the fun without me."

Prussia thought about it. "You know I have a problem when I can't read the language. But I'll awesomely go. The prank, date, whatever, it's worth it."

"Cool. See you later."

"Don't forget your axe!" Romano yelled after him. Denmark just waved, without looking back, and Prussia scampered to catch him.

…

_Well, yes, there is a Ludwig Road in Gilbertsville. I was there this summer. And there is..._nothing_...there. But King of Prussia does have a Prussia-awesome mall._


	52. Manipulation

**Manipulation.**

The cab with Veneziano and Romano pulled up outside the Japanese hotel right behind another one, which turned out to contain Germany and Prussia. "Ve!" Veneziano yelled, dropping his suitcase and running to hug Germany.

Romano just scowled, until Prussia slipped over to him. "Kesesese! Ready for our plan?"

"Yeah. I just hope Japan put you guys in the right hotel rooms." As they turned to carry their suitcases inside, Denmark came out of the lobby, grinning madly, and gave them the thumbs-up.

"Bastard!" Romano yelled, with a warning frown.

Denmark's eyes widened – as if he'd just remembered something – and he scurried back into the hotel.

"Kesesese," Prussia whispered. "This is going to be good."

"Shut up about it and let's go check in."

Japan had indeed put them in the rooms they'd requested. Prussia was in with Switzerland, and Denmark with America. "Good," Romano said absently to the concierge, trying to act calm.

Prussia wheeled his Danish suitcase along. "Come on, Romano, come up to my room with me." He raised his voice for the benefit of any listening nations. "I'm really glad I'm not rooming with Denmark this time."

Nobody seemed to be paying attention. "Don't overdo it, stupid. Just go up to your room. England and I are in 719, so come find us once you get settled. Let me know how things are going."

"All right, I awesomely will."

They rode up the elevator with Latvia, who tried to wedge himself into the corner. Romano turned to him with his teeth bared and then said, "Boo!"

"Aah!" Latvia yelled, running out of the elevator as soon as the doors opened.

"That little bastard is so funny."

"Pick on someone your own size, Romano." The elevator reached Prussia's floor and he got out. "See you in a little bit."

"Yeah. I'll wait in my room for you."

When he got to his room, England, in casual clothes, was staring out the window. "Hey."

"Hey yourself, bastard. Recovered from the wanking yet?"

England turned and smirked at him. "I'm so recovered, I'm ready for anything. Get naked. I'm going to punish you for abandoning me."

But Romano just laughed. "Bastard, forget it. Not yet. The albino potato's on his way over in a little bit."

"Oh. Well, then, forget it, you're right. Not in the mood for a threesome with Gilbert."

"Just stop right there, idiot. Don't even put that idea in my head."

"Fine." The blond sat on the bed. "What about Denmark? He's here; I already talked to him."

The Skirmish Brothers had had a long online chat last week, debating whether or not to tell England about the plan. In the end they figured they'd better tell him, or he'd blurt out something stupid in front of everyone. So Romano told him.

"Bloody _hell._ You gits like to live on the edge, don't you?"

"It – it'll be fine. Denmark's bringing his axe to protect me."

"Yes, but if he and Gilbert are staging a fake breakup, who's going to protect Gilbert?"

"Oh, you know Swissy would never shoot the albino potato." Romano thought about this. "What about America, though? Do you think he might hurt Prussia?"

England snorted. "I'm betting he's so clueless he won't even know what you wankers are trying to do. But I don't understand something. If Switzerland and Austria are dating again, why aren't they rooming together?"

"Cheh. The albino potato got his bastard brother to pull some strings with Japan and change all the rooms around." Romano shrugged. "I guess nobody really suspects anything."

England agreed. "Half the time these meetings are so bloody fucked up that they could put Latvia in with Belarus and nobody would catch it."

Romano shuddered. "Don't even suggest that. That poor little kid."

A knock sounded, followed by "Hey! It's me, Romano, open up!"

Romano sighed and opened the door. "Well? Come in."

"Hello, Arthur."

"Gilbert."

"So, you know you two have to totally run interference between me and Den for a day or so," Prussia reminded them as he shut the door. "Since I'm supposedly broken up with him, I can't go talking to him."

"Yes, we'll be your fucking messengers, idiot." Romano nudged him. "Don't worry about it."

England started worrying his lower lip in his teeth. "_I'm_ worried about it. Am I supposed to do anything?"

"Nope. It's awesomely all right for you to be a bystander. Oh, I might ask you to take a message to Den for me once in a while, but otherwise, just be your charming self, and don't tell anybody about this. All right? Can you do that, Ethel?"

"Yes, Lucy, I can do it!" England scowled and punched him.

"Ow. You two really are made for each other."

"Shut up," Romano said, punching him.

"See? See? Didn't I just say?" Prussia grinned at his friends.

"Oh, bollocks. Come on, let's go down to the hotel bar and see what we see."

"Let me change out of this stupid uniform first." Romano flung his suitcase open and rummaged through it.

"Hurry it up, kesesese! Come on."

…

"Why don't you go sit with Denmark?" Romano hissed to England. "It would look less weird."

"_You_ want to sit with _Gilbert_? Well, it's your funeral. See you later." The blond sauntered over to the table full of Nordics, where Liechtenstein was also sitting.

"Hey!" Denmark, in a muscle shirt and jeans, made room for him. "Why are you hanging out with Prussia?" he demanded loudly.

But – "You brought your axe to the bar? What exactly are you planning?" Then England's eyes widened. "Is this going to be like that time in Moscow, when you chopped all the chandeliers off?" He looked around. "No chandeliers here, though."

"Hey, I remember that," Iceland said with a grin. "I got hit in the head with a flying crystal."

Liechtenstein looked quite concerned. "I don't believe I was at that meeting."

"Lucky you," the other three chorused, making the girl laugh.

"It's just for protection," Denmark told him airily.

"Protection against what? Against whom?" England really was baffled about this. Protection against Switzerland, maybe?

"Never mind," Denmark said with a wink. "Sit down and drink."

"Yeah, all right." England sat and ordered a beer.

"Why aren't you sitting with Romano?" Liechtenstein then asked politely. "I hope you two didn't break up, too." She darted a nervous glance at Denmark, who was drinking a vodka martini.

"No, no, we're still together. I – ah – well, I guess he wants to – er – console Prussia for the, er –"

"Because the Teutonic fucker broke up with me!" Denmark shouted angrily. Heads turned, but not Prussia's, and not Romano's.

England panicked. Was Denmark really acting? He was acting very well, if he was. "Settle down, Den. It – it doesn't matter!" He couldn't think of what else to say. "But, no, there are no problems with Romano and me. Yet." He turned in his chair to watch the other two, who were arguing with Switzerland and Austria. "Has anybody seen America yet?"

Denmark got a goofy grin on his face, but Iceland replied first. "Yes, he was in here a little while ago. Hurried out when Austria walked in."

England wanted to smack Denmark, who was still grinning like an ape.

Liechtenstein sighed. "My poor Bruder is so conflicted about America."

England froze, and he could feel Denmark's attention shift as well. "Conflicted how? Switzerland? What?" That sounded neutral enough. He knew that all three of his friends would be angry if he let on about this prank, so he had to be very careful.

"He feels guilty for breaking up Austria and America."

Denmark was practically exploding with glee. England tried to kick him under the table. When this didn't work, he elbowed him and said, "Hey, Den, come outside for a walk with me. I need to talk to you." If he didn't, Den would blow their whole setup!

"Sure. Should I bring my axe?" Denmark stood up and stretched. "Yeah, what the hell, I'll bring it."

"See you later," the island nation said to the others, as he and Denmark left the room, axe in tow.

…

"Where the fuck are they going?" Romano wondered.

"It's nothing to do with me!" Prussia yelled after their retreating backs. Denmark hesitated, they could see, but then the blonds walked out of the bar, the axe narrowly missing the door frame.

Romano poked his friend. "You're overdoing it again," he hissed.

"Just trying to make a point," the albino whispered back.

In a more conversational tone, Romano demanded, "Get me another drink, stupid."

"I would like a drink as well, Prussia," Austria said, as Prussia stood up to head to the bar.

"Fine. What's everyone awesomely drinking? I'll just get a bunch."

"You're treating?" Switzerland asked. "Where are you getting money? Germany won't be happy."

"Germany is never happy," Austria sniffed.

"Never mind about the money," Prussia said, nudging Romano. "Let me out of the booth."

Romano dutifully moved. The three of them watched Prussia head to the bar, and then Romano thought he'd better say something to move their plan along. "So how's your love life?"

Switzerland blushed bright red. "Everyone is such a _gossip!_" He put his hand down as if to pull out a gun, but reconsidered.

"Don't worry. You don't have to answer," Austria said calmly, finishing the remains of his first drink.

The three of them sat in an embarrassed silence until Prussia returned with a tray, beaming. "So, anybody gone on any hot dates lately?" he asked, handing out the drinks.

"Prussia!" At that, Switzerland did whip out a gun, and shot Prussia in the head.

Everyone at the table watched in amazement as a Nerf dart stuck to the albino's forehead, and then fell off and landed in Romano's Bloody Mary. "Dammit." He was intensely relieved, though, that Switzerland was only packing a Nerf gun and not a real one. Romano picked the dart out of the glass and set it aside, suddenly not as thirsty as he'd been. He pushed the drink aside.

But Prussia was completely unfazed. "Why are you using a Nerf gun, Swissy?"

"Don't call me _Swissy_!" He brandished the Nerf gun in Prussia's face, but settled down as he felt Austria's hand on his arm. "Austria asked me not to carry a loaded pistol at Japan's place." He scowled and holstered the toy gun.

"Well, whatever. You may not know that Denmark and I broke up, so I was just curious about everyone else's love life."

"I'm not going to date you," Switzerland said decisively, and Romano burst out laughing.

"Me neither." Austria reached for his new drink.

"Kesesese. You two are so touchy."

The noise level in the bar had risen quite a bit, and nobody at their table now seemed inclined to talk. "I'm going for a walk," Romano decided. Maybe he could find England and Denmark.

"Fine, fine. Hey, anybody see America lately?" Prussia asked.

Romano decided to stay for a few moments. This might help with their plan.

Both the others seemed exceedingly uncomfortable. "What's the matter with you two?"

"America and I broke up," Austria offered quietly.

"Don't gossip!" Switzerland elbowed him. "You know how Prussia is."

But the musical nation turned his beautiful purple eyes to his old friend. "I'm just setting the record straight. If Romano and Prussia know the full story, they can work to stop any rumors."

"Anyway, Austria awesomely told me that last month. I was just wondering how America's taking it."

Romano stilled, hoping Prussia wouldn't do anything stupid to shut the other two up.

Austria drank and continued. "He didn't seem to have a problem with the - the breakup. I – just can't seem to be content with him."

Prussia nodded. "He's very different from you, Austria, my friend. Loud and fun."

"Why didn't you ever date him?" Swissy wondered. "You're loud, too."

Romano snorted his drink. "Chigi! Do you have any idea how insane they would be?"

"I am not interested in America." Prussia drank. "I've been going out with Denmark for over two years!"

Romano kicked him under the table. "Yet you two _broke up_," he said, in a warning tone. Stupid albino potato! He'd ruin the whole plan.

"Oh! Oh, yeah, well, he's – uh – well, whatever." Prussia sank his head into his hands for a moment.

"Whatever, bastards. I'm going for that walk!" Romano pushed the albino aside and crawled over him, hurrying out of the bar. Whew. He was no good at this spy shit. Maybe he should get England to go back in there and worm some information out of Austria.

Several steps later he felt an arm around him. "Hey," Prussia said.

"Hey what? You fucking idiot. You're not doing a very good job." He pushed Prussia away.

"It's difficult! Wow, this is hard. I think we should do the fake making-up scene tomorrow, just so I don't have to keep pretending to be pissed at Denmark."

"Did someone just say my name?" they heard behind them.

Turning, the two of them faced the blade of the axe. "Put the fucking axe away, stupid; it's just us."

"I can see who it is!" Denmark was scowling; England, next to him, rolled his eyes.

"Den, knock it off. Nobody's looking."

"Oh. Well, all right." He stood the axe up next to him and grinned. "How's it going?"

"Uh," Prussia said, fidgeting. "Come over here and talk to me a minute, Den."

"Sure." He handed the axe to England. "Hold this."

The two of them ducked into a little alleyway.

"How do I look?" England asked Romano, posing with the axe.

"Badass. If I didn't know what a cuddly little bastard you are, I'd be really scared."

England narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything, a policeman accosted him. "Sir! Weapons are not permitted on the street!"

"Huh? Oh, this?" England tried to bluff. "It's – ah, it's a cultural artifact. I don't use it as a weapon. It's ceremonial."

"Regardless! You must take it inside your dwelling."

Romano scooted over to the alleyway, where Denmark and Prussia were making out. He didn't even care! "Psst! Bastards, a cop's after England for carrying the axe around!"

"Whoops. Have to take a rain check, Teutonic Knights." Den patted the white hair. "Come on. Let's go rescue our friend."

When they came back out the policeman was trying to grab the axe. "It's a cultural artifact!" England kept yelling, dancing around, trying to keep it out of the man's reach.

Denmark walked right up to him and plucked the weapon out of his grip. "Thanks for taking care of my axe," he said cheerfully, peering down at the shorter policeman. With the axe in hand he was quite menacing, much more so than England had been. Romano was very glad Denmark was his friend now.

The policeman looked up – and up – first at the biceps Denmark was flexing absently, then at his smirking face, and then up further to the head of the axe towering above him. "Please keep your cultural artifacts under control!" he squealed, running away.

"Kesesese! That was a good one."

England had gone white, so Romano hugged him briefly. "Bastards, we shouldn't stand around here in a group like this. Nobody will believe the breakup story."

"Right. Come over to the alley again," Denmark suggested. "I can hide the _cultural artifact_ while we talk." He nudged England with the handle. "Good one."

After they'd squeezed into the alley, Romano asked, "So what's the next step? The albino potato misses you." He smirked, but it was mostly lost in the darkness. He felt England take his hand and squeezed it.

"Well, Liechtenstein says that Swissy feels guilty about breaking up America and Austria."

"Oh. That's awesome. That ought to help us a lot."

"I think tomorrow, at the meeting, you bastards should do the sad and fake-flirty shit with each other, instead of waiting until Wednesday. Then at lunchtime, or in the afternoon, you can get back together, and then ask the other two about changing hotel rooms."

"I can deal with that," Prussia said. "I'd hate to have to spend another whole day being broken up with you, Den."

Crickets chirped as the other three failed to respond.

"Just one thing," Denmark realized. "If I've got to be flirting with Prussia, I won't be able to pay much attention to the meeting. Will you take notes for me, England?"

"Sure. I'd rather not be too attentive to your mischief anyway. Maybe I won't even sit with Romano. If I sit at the front of the room I can concentrate better."

"Fine with me, bastard."

"Right, well, we should be getting back. Come on, Gilbert, walk with me, and let Romano go with Den. I have some stuff I want to talk to you about. See you in a bit." England squeezed Romano's hand one more time.

"Kesesese! All right. I'll spend the night singing America's praises to Swissy and awesomely start flirting with you at the meeting tomorrow, Den." He pecked a kiss on Denmark's cheek.

"Deal. See you then, loverboy." As England and Prussia left the alley, Denmark swatted Prussia on the ass.

"Ooh! Boy, I can't wait until we're back together," Romano heard, as the others moved off.

"Better wait here a little while," Denmark said. "Let them get ahead of us."

"Fine with me, bastard, as long as you're prepared to protect me." This alley was pretty dark, and Romano was not comfortable. "Or we could leave and walk the other way."

Denmark ruffled his hair. "Let's get out in the light."

…

_I know; I said the upcoming chapters would all be one-shots, but if I tried to shoehorn this whole subplot into one chapter it would be enormous. Stay tuned while Our Heroes do their matchmaking best!_


	53. Persuasion

**Persuasion.**

When Denmark got back to his room, America was lying on the bed watching television. "Hey," he said to the heroic nation.

"Aw! I'm glad you're here, Denmark. I was really getting bored." America looked at him in a funny way – or so Denmark thought – but then picked up the remote and muted the TV. "Want to play a video game or something?"

Denmark shrugged. Well, he'd need to start talking about how fabulous Swissy was, if they were going to succeed in their plan, so he might as well hang out with America for a while. "Sure. Any shooting games on there?" That would certainly help.

America checked the hotel's guide. "Black Ops?"

"Sure, that sounds good. Let me get changed." Den set the axe in the corner of the room and headed into the bathroom to wash up.

When he came back out, America was bouncing on the bed and fiddling with the controller. "I hope you don't mind; I ordered some room service. I'm kind of hungry."

"Why didn't you eat downstairs?"

America fiddled with his glasses. "Uh. You know I was dating Austria."

"Yeah?"

"We're not dating any more. He's with Switzerland again."

Now Den was stuck. Should he talk about Swissy, or commiserate with America for losing Austria? He snorted. "You'd be better off dating Swissy," he said boldly. "You two have a lot in common."

America frowned. "Just guns, right? That's not much. I have more in common with Prussia." Then his eyes widened. "Whoops. Sorry. I know you guys broke up."

Den nodded, playing along. "Yeah, don't worry about me. Anyway, having guns in common is a pretty serious thing. Though I heard he's packing a Nerf gun this week." Romano had told him about this when they'd walked back to the hotel.

"Ha ha ha! That's pretty funny! I didn't know Switzerland had an awesome sense of humor like that. He always seems so serious." America threw a controller to Denmark, who joined him on the bed.

"Swissy's a good guy," Denmark said. "Sexy, too." Ah, what the hell, he'd push and push until America started getting suspicious. No sign of that yet.

"Really? That beret he wears is kind of girly. I mean, even France doesn't wear berets anymore."

"So get him to take the beret off!" Den decided to push some more. "It'd be hard to run your fingers through his hair, if he had the hat on."

"True," America said, somewhat absently, loading the game.

Denmark was getting a little worried! He'd thought he'd have to be extra-subtle, and hadn't been too confident in his ability to do that. But from the sounds of things, he might have to threaten America with the axe just to drive home his point. Oh, well. Play now, persuade later…

…

Switzerland came into the room and removed his beret. "Prussia," he said calmly.

"Hey, Swissy! Have a pretzel." Prussia was eating pretzels because they reminded him of Denmark, and he was really sad about this fake breakup and wanted it to be over very soon. Hopefully he could push Swissy where he needed to go.

"Thanks." Switzerland took a pretzel from the bag. "Stop calling me Swissy."

"Oh, all right. How were things in the bar after I left? Anything exciting?"

"There's never anything exciting at these meetings."

"That's not true," Prussia grinned. "America, for example, brings a great deal of excitement to every meeting." He stopped to think about this. "So does Denmark, for that matter."

"Why did you and Denmark break up?" Switzerland asked this question in a polite, reasonable tone – almost an "I don't really care" tone – but Prussia panicked. They hadn't come up with a fake reason!

"Uh – irreconcilable differences?" he suggested with a shrug.

"Oh. You mean he couldn't stand you anymore." Switzerland finally removed the holster with the Nerf gun, his boots, and his uniform jacket. "Those pretzels are good. Give me another one." He joined Prussia on the bed, and the albino began madly trying to work America into the conversation again.

"I had good pretzels in America last time I was visiting," he said. "In Los Angeles."

"They have a lot of stuff in Los Angeles, don't they," Switzerland said noncommittally.

"Yeah! We had a great vacation." He slipped into a little replay.

"The water park was fun," Switzerland conceded. "I don't get to do that sort of thing very often but Liechtenstein wanted to go." He reached for another pretzel.

"She's a grown girl! You could let her go by herself if you didn't want to go. Or, you know, Iceland is being good to her; he'd totally look out for her."

"Eh."

The two of them sat on the bed in silence for a little while. Prussia's brain was whirling. How on earth was he going to get Switzerland interested in America? "America and Denmark are rooming together," he said, desperate for some conversation to move the plot along.

"Huh. Sounds like you really miss Denmark."

What? No, that wasn't what Prussia had been going for at all! But he couldn't just change the subject. "Ah, well, Den is a lot of fun, Swissy, a lot of fun, but I bet America is even more fun."

"Don't call me Swissy!" The blond took the last pretzel. "I'm going to brush my teeth and go to bed. We do have a meeting tomorrow, you know."

Prussia sighed and made one last desperate effort. "I'm going to try to sit next to America. He really is awesome."

"Good night, Prussia." Switzerland went into the bathroom.

Dismayed, Prussia set the empty pretzel bag aside and got under the covers of his bed. He hoped his friends would never find out how badly he'd done tonight, and he hoped Den was making better progress persuading America.

He spent some time thinking about Romano and England, too, because they were lucky enough to be rooming together. "Damn it," he muttered, just as Switzerland came out of the bathroom and turned off the light.

"Damn it what?"

"Uh. Nothing. Just – just wishing I could have roomed with America this time." Damn it, he sounded so stupid. Swissy was bound to get suspicious.

But apparently not. "Good night, Prussia. You'll be over it by morning." Switzerland slipped into the other bed and turned his back to the albino.

"Good night."

…

"Come on, bastard, kiss me. Hold me. Something!"

"I can't. My arms hurt from swishing that bloody axe around."

"Poor baby. I bet I can persuade you otherwise."

"You always were a persuasive git. Get to work."


	54. Confusion

**Confusion.**

"Wake up, Prussia, if you're going to the meeting." Switzerland, already fully-dressed, slipped the Nerf gun into its holster with a sigh.

"I'm awake, Swi—tzerland. Just resting." Prussia leaped out of the bed, scrubbing his hands through his white hair, and headed into the bathroom. "Gonna sit with America today?" he asked.

Switzerland did not answer.

By the time Prussia came out of the bathroom, Swissy was gone. Oh, well. He'd done his best. Now he could end the fake breakup. "Kesesese!"

…

When he got to the meeting room, Prussia scanned the seats. Where were all the other key players? Well, Arthur, as promised, was right up at the head of the table, with his back to everyone else. Hah. At least they wouldn't have to worry about him doing anything to disrupt the plans.

Swissy was opposite Denmark. Damn. Prussia had hoped to snag that seat himself. But he could sit next to Swissy; that would work. He'd be in Den's line of sight, at least.

Denmark and Romano were sitting together, about midway down the table on the far side. The axe was propped against the wall behind them. America was on the other side of Denmark. Prussia snorted; probably America was only sitting there so he could get a good look at Swissy. If Den had done his homework.

Austria was all the way in the very back of the room, next to Hungary. Prussia felt a momentary pang at possibly hurting his old friend this way – because if they got Swissy and America together, Austria would be out in the cold – but then he thought about their plan and laughed. Austria would get over it.

But why wasn't Switzerland sitting with Austria? That was weird, if they were dating.

Germany pushed him from behind. "Prussia, please move it along. Other people are trying to get settled."

"Yes, yes, West, I hear you." He hurried to the Japanese breakfast buffet and got a cup of coffee and some strange foods he didn't recognize before scurrying back to the table. He hoped they'd be good.

Oh, good. The seat next to Swissy was still empty; it was directly opposite Romano. Good. He'd sit there, and awesomely flirt with Den right from the start.

Switzerland turned his attention to the coffee cup before him. Prussia poked him in the beret just to get a reaction. If he could get Swissy to keep looking across the table, he'd practically be staring at America all day! This was going to be so easy. "Kesesese!"

"Do you have to sit next to me here?" Switzerland grumbled. "It's bad enough I have to room with you."

"Oh, Swissy," the albino groaned, in the most dire voice he could manage, "I'm dying of a broken heart…don't deny me this simple pleasure."

"Do I have to shoot you?"

Prussia then laughed. "Go ahead, Switzerland, shoot me with your awesome Nerf gun and put me out of my misery." He spread his arms wide, providing a target for the dart, and groaned theatrically. Romano snorted at this, but Switzerland simply bopped him on the shoulder with the Nerf gun.

"Ow! Not awesome. Stop it."

"Don't talk to me," the Alpine nation said.

"Fine." He needed to get down to business with Den, anyway.

France and Spain then entered the room, scanned the place much as Prussia had done, and then began to head for the buffet. And then Spain stopped short. Prussia watched him flick his eyes to Arthur, all alone at the head of the table, and back to Romano…and then Prussia saw a grin he knew very well appear on Spain's face. Uh-oh. He knew that grin, and it didn't bode well for Romano. Or Arthur.

But Prussia couldn't bother warning them. He had to work on Denmark. He glanced across the table and caught Den smiling pleasantly at hi—not at him? At Swissy! "Damn it!" he yelled, punching the table.

"What's the matter with you?" Romano asked.

"What's the matter with _you_?" America asked Romano, leaning across Denmark. "You and Iggy have a fight? You're even surlier than usual."

"Shut up." Romano scowled and turned away, watching Arthur's back.

Prussia decided to ignore Romano for now and focus on Denmark. Keeping his arm on the table, he gave a little finger-wave to him. Poland, further down the table, saw this and gave Prussia a little finger-wave back; the albino smiled and blew him a kiss. Always fun to fake-flirt with Poland! Poland reddened and tittered a bit, clinging to Lithuania, and Prussia turned back to Den.

Denmark cocked an eyebrow and shifted in his chair so that he was turned more towards America. Prussia watched him lean down and whisper something to the heroic nation; America's eyes first went to Swissy, and then to Prussia, who beamed at him artificially.

"I need another cup of coffee," Switzerland decided. Den checked his coffee cup, too. "Would you like another cup, Denmark?"

"Sure, thanks." He pushed the cup towards Switzerland.

Good, now with Swissy out of the way, Prussia could flirt some more. He stretched his foot across the table and began rubbing it up and down on Den's leg. Except –

"Knock it the fuck off, you stupid potato brain!" Romano punched the table. Oops.

Before Prussia could answer, Spain came bouncing up and plopped into the empty chair next to the Italian. "_Hola, mi tomatito._"

"Don't call me that, fucker. Don't sit here. Go away."

But Spain reached out a hand to ruffle Romano's hair. "But Lovi~! You're not sitting with that _desagradable pirata!_"

"Never mind about that! Get your hand off my hair, dammit."

Spain obligingly removed his hand and smiled at Prussia.

Prussia was a little worried. Had Romano and Arthur actually had a fight? That would suck. He checked Arthur again. He was still facing front, drinking his tea, and ignoring everything. Damn. Well, he'd ask Romano at lunchtime.

Idly he blew Denmark a kiss, but Den ignored it. Hah! Was he going to play hard to get? Prussia would simply have to work out a different strategy. After all, he was the best strategist in Europe. Right, enough of all this depression. "Denmark," he said pleadingly, his crimson eyes sparkling with mischief.

He ignored Romano's snort of derision and focused on Den, who let his mouth quirk into a tiny grin, and then turned away a little. Ah, that was better. But then Switzerland came back with the coffees, handing one to Denmark with a small smile, and Den was distracted by this. Ah, no problem. They'd have fun with it. Prussia decided to completely abandon the America-Swissy plan and just focus on Denmark _all day._

Japan walked to the front of the large conference room to begin the meeting, and Prussia reluctantly had to stop goofing off and focus a little. Just a little. He didn't want West bitching at him in front of everyone for disrupting another meeting!

…

The meeting was surprisingly interesting this time. Denmark found it difficult to pay attention to Prussia's goofy flirting, because the meeting was on track and progressing well. Periodically America leaned over and murmured something to him, and he always replied pleasantly, and then gifted Prussia with a little smile. Hah. Half the time the albino wasn't even looking! He was trying to pay attention to the meeting, too (perhaps to impress Germany?) and feverishly taking notes.

Switzerland, Den noticed, was alternating his gaze between Japan at the head of the table and – could he really be shyly gazing at America? Man, the Skirmish Brothers were awesome strategists, Denmark realized, nodding silently. It had only taken one day! Not _even_ one day. The next time he caught Switzerland's eye he smiled at him, happy with the apparent success of their mission, and received another small smile from the Alpine nation. Yeah. He'd have to congratulate Prussia later on the good work he must have done. The Fighting Fucking Strategic Boozing Bastards. He laughed a little, and saw Swissy give him a little smile.

Romano, though, was not having such a good time of it. Flanked on the other side by Spain, he kept trying to edge his chair back, but Denmark was in the way. Luckily for the half-nation, Spain had to at least pretend to pay attention to the meeting, so he was facing front most of the time. But when he wasn't, his hands were reaching for Romano, touching his hair, his shoulder, his hands…Romano kept smacking Spain's hand away without saying anything; apparently he didn't want to disrupt the meeting. Spain didn't get the message, though, or if he did, he didn't give a damn.

Denmark thought maybe later the axe would have to come into play. He didn't like it when his friends were distressed.

Japan called for a midmorning break. Everyone (except Romano and the fiercely-concentrating Prussia) was upbeat and happy to take a break. They were actually ahead of schedule!

Den stood up and stretched. He wasn't wearing his long coat today, just regular fatigues. Oh, well. If ya got it, flaunt it, he thought, flexing his biceps, and laughed, catching Switzerland's eye.

The Alpine nation blushed and hurriedly went to the buffet table for more coffee. Right behind America! Their plan was perfectly-conceived and he knew America and Swissy would be going on a date tonight. Yeah.

Oh. Denmark thought maybe he ought to do something to help out Romano. Spain was fully turned in his chair, smiling and trying to hug the Italian, who was hissing curses under his breath.

"Excuse me," Den said politely, looming over Romano, wrapping his arms around him in a hug, giving Spain his best sharklike grin. "Back off."

Spain's eyes widened and he hurried to the buffet without a word.

"Thanks, bastard. I don't know why tomatoes-for-brains can't take no for an answer!"

"Don't worry about it." Den stood up and rested a hand on Romano's shoulder. "If he tries it again, I'll get the axe out."

"You really are a good friend," Romano said with a little smirk. "Thanks."

"No problem. Want some coffee?"

"I'll get your coffee, Denmark!" Prussia leaped out of his chair and elbowed his way through the other nations to the buffet table, where he pushed Russia away from the coffeepot and poured a cup for Denmark. He managed to bring it back to the spiky-haired nation without spilling much, beaming so brightly that even Romano laughed.

"Thanks, Prussia." Den smiled at him sweetly. Yeah. Anybody listening would know there were no serious problems between the two of them. He'd be happy to end this stupid fake breakup. "Let's get together soon," he whispered, and Prussia actually jumped up and down.

England, passing by on his way to the buffet, smiled at all of them generically, but did not comment.

When Switzerland came back he set down two coffee cups and poked the squirming albino with the Nerf gun. "Sit down, you capering monkey."

At this, Romano laughed out loud. "The Albino Monkey!"

"Romano, that's not cool at all. Besides, I told you, now that we have the hats in the works, we don't need the motto or name. So drop it."

"Whatever you say, Teutonic Monkey."

"Romano!"

Switzerland now slid one of the cups across the table to Denmark. "I, uh, here, Denmark, I brought you another cup of coffee. Since I was already up there."

"Thanks." Having stretched himself enough, Denmark sat back down, boots on the table, and drank first the Prussia coffee and then the Switzerland coffee.

England passed by again, winking at Den on the way back to his seat.

Just before Japan called the meeting back to order, America slipped into his seat with a plate full of snacks. "If you want any, feel free," he whispered to Denmark, who nodded and took something off the plate.

Spain scurried back and eyed Denmark warily before sitting and turning his back to Romano.

The second half of the morning meeting began.

…

Romano had thought it was a good idea for England to sit up at the front of the room. He'd continued to think this was sound strategy, right up until fucking _Spain_ sat next to him. Dammit, even the potato bastard would be better than Spain! And no matter how hard he'd tried all morning, whispering inventive Italian curses that he knew the bastard understood, or kicking him, smacking him, whatever (and trying to keep it all low-key so he wouldn't disrupt the meeting), the tomato-brained loser simply wouldn't lay off. Romano growled again…very quietly…and tried to focus on the meeting.

He didn't even care about the America-Swissy Plan, at this point. He just wanted it to be lunchtime; he'd ask England to come sit next to him, and screw the meeting notes, and the idiotic manipulative plan, and as far as he cared, Denmark and Prussia could just get fucked.

Spain must have gotten the message when Den had threatened him, though. He wasn't bothering Romano _at all_. Good. Stupid bastard.

Since he didn't have to fight him off anymore, he took a minute to check on the Plan. Hah. Denmark and America were cozily sharing snacks from a plate, but Prussia (who was looking either at Den, or the snacks, with longing) was too far away to reach them. Idiot. Why hadn't he gotten his own snacks?

Swissy, though…Switzerland had a kind of creepy smile on his face, gazing across the table. Towards America? Fuck yeah! Romano almost did a fist pump before realizing how stupid that would look. But, yeah! Looked like the plan was on track. He smiled at Prussia, who rubbed his stupid foot on Romano's leg again (Romano flipped him the bird, and Prussia laughed), and then he tried to give Denmark a smile of encouragement.

But Denmark was grinning inanely at Prussia, across the table, and didn't see. Well, whatever.

One thing Romano now noticed. He'd never paid much attention to the Nordics before, except of course Denmark, and a little bit of Iceland now that that nation was dating Liechtenstein. But that guy over there – that was Norway. Norway used to date Denmark, he knew. And Norway was staring at Den with a very calculating expression on his face.

Oh.

If everybody thought Denmark and Prussia had broken up, then maybe Norway wanted to get back with Den.

He took his note pad and scribbled this down, shoving the note pad across to Prussia, who took it and immediately stared at Norway in shock.

Romano covered his face in embarrassment, but then peeked through his fingers; Norway was still staring at Den and hadn't seemed to notice. And Denmark was whispering to America again.

Then Romano felt Spain pinch his ass. "Dammit!" he yelled, interrupting the meeting.

"Is there a problem, Romano-san?" Japan asked politely.

Romano scowled at Spain, then at stupid England, who hadn't even turned around! "N-no," he managed. "I'm sorry. Please continue."

When Japan began his speech again, Romano leaned over and hissed, "Get your fucking hands off me!"

"But Lovi~!" Spain whispered back.

Prussia leaned over. "Spain, leave him alone," he whispered in his turn. "Just because they had a fight –"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Romano's voice was low. "What fight?" Then he thought maybe he and England were supposed to be fake fighting? But he couldn't remember anything about that, and while he was thinking, Spain hugged him. "Knock it off!" he yelled again.

Ten seconds of frozen silence, broken only by a barely-suppressed "kesesese," and then Japan delicately inquired, "Romano-san?"

And fucking England still hadn't turned around! Boy, that bastard was going to pay for this. If they weren't fighting now, they would be later. "Hah."

Oh. Everyone was waiting to get the meeting back on track. "Sorry. Carry on." He flapped a hand at Japan, who refrained from speaking for ten seconds, and then the meeting continued.

Denmark reached around Romano and flicked Spain on the ear. "Ow! _Dinamarca!_"

Everyone ignored Spain's interruption; Japan simply spoke louder to cover it. The tomato bastard scooted his chair away a little, after that. Even better. Now Romano could focus on the Plan, just to see what was going on. He laughed a little, under his breath, as did Denmark.

Swissy had a look on his face that shocked Romano: he was appraising Den.

The Italian shivered and glanced back at Spain, who was still holding his sore ear. Hah. Well, Swissy _should_ be scared of Denmark. Everyone should! Except him and the albino potato, of course. (And stupid "I'm ignoring everything" England, dammit.) Den was a fucking gigantic Viking bastard!

Romano leaned forward to peek past Den and see how America was doing. Then he rubbed his eyes. Hm. He must be having some depth perception problems, because America seemed way too close to Denmark. If he were any closer he'd be on Den's lap! Romano rubbed his eyes again and squinted. Maybe he needed glasses.

Prussia scribbled something on the note pad and shot it back across the table. "Tell Den I miss him," it said. Romano rolled his eyes. What a potato brain. Underneath it he wrote, "The Teutonic Monkey misses you," and shoved it under Denmark's nose.

Denmark started laughing and then covered his mouth. "Sorry," he offered to Japan, before that nation could say anything.

"It is not a problem, Denmark-san."

The meeting went on. Romano took a deep breath. If fucking Spain would only leave him alone until lunchtime, everything would be fine.

…

England was not happy.

He couldn't decide if he hated being on the outskirts of this bloody plan, or if he preferred it, so none of it would backfire on him. All morning he'd been hearing the whispers, little quiet "keseseses" (which were always loud no matter how manfully Gilbert tried to squelch them), and sometimes even the sounds of a scuffle. He really wondered what was going on, and several times had been tempted to turn around.

Ultimately, he hadn't, because (a), he didn't want the other wankers getting irritated with him for messing with The Plan, and (b), he really did need to focus on the meeting. Japan seemed pleasant, and quite happy to have an attentive audience. Even if it was only an attentive audience of one.

England couldn't help being intensely curious about the whispers, though, and especially the smacks. Or maybe that was the sound of a Nerf dart hitting flesh? He _really wanted to know!_

But he would curb his curiosity, at least until lunchtime, when he could sit with Romano (no matter what the other gits were doing, or pretending to be doing), and find out what he'd missed.

And then Romano yelled "Dammit!"

England jumped in his chair and almost turned around, but forced himself not to. Japan got the meeting back on track, and everything was going smoothly (or so it seemed), and then Romano yelled, "Knock it off, bastard!"

Oh, he wondered just who the hell was pissing Romano off now. Probably Gilbert. He snorted and made a little doodle of an Iron Cross on his note pad.

Japan was patient and began to speak, and then everyone heard Spain yell, "Ow! _Dinamarca!_"

Aha. So, Spain was bothering Romano, and Denmark was bothering Spain. Sounded like it was all sorted. If Spain had the brains God gave a gnat he'd realize Denmark was not a nation to fuck around with. But then, Spain was not noted for his brain power.

England wondered whether Denmark had brought his axe today.

The meeting flowed placidly on for a while. The island nation was beginning to get hungry. As he doodled a mochi with a surly face on his notepad, adding a hair curl, the meeting suddenly ground to a halt again. Japan stopped in midsentence.

England heard a flurry of whispered cursing – Romano, he'd bet – followed by some smacks and grunts and the squeak of chair casters. He hoped Denmark would sort things –

"_Bastard!_ Will you get off that fucking lily white ass of yours and help me out here?"

Wide-eyed, the island nation finally turned around in his chair, to see Spain with his arms around Romano, the half-nation trying to push him away. Before England could say or do anything, Denmark slipped one powerful hand around Spain's throat. "Let go of him, Spain," Denmark said pleasantly. "Do you want me to use my axe?" He nodded towards the axe.

But before Spain could respond – other than to let go of Romano – England had shoved his way back to that section of table and grabbed Spain by the hair. "Let go, Den." Denmark let go and put his hands on his hips, looming over them.

England looked around at his audience. Almost everyone else in the room was watching this little scene with interest, except Romano, who was scowling down at the table, and America, Switzerland and Norway, who were all looking at Denmark. Well, he didn't have leisure to think about those wankers.

He took a deep breath, speaking rationally, almost pleasantly, still holding Spain by his hair. "Now, listen, you bloody bastard, we can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way."

Spain tried to manage a cheeky grin, but failed. "What's the easy way, _amigo_?"

"I'm not your _amigo,_" England replied, still in that silky, deadly-calm voice. "The easy way is that I beat the daylights out of you and then fling you out of the window." He gestured towards the window with his head and tugged on Spain's hair a little so he could see the window too.

"We're only on the first floor, _Espagne,_" France trilled from the side of the room. "It won't hurt that much."

"You're next, frog face."

"What's the – the hard way?" Amazingly, Spain was still trying to act defiant.

"Well, the hard way is that I take you up to the top floor, beat the daylights out of you, and throw you out of _that_ window." England grinned. He heard the intake of breath from several shocked nations, probably those who'd never understood the enmity between them. "Or you could just leap out of the window and save me the trouble." England accompanied this threat with a significant tug on Spain's short hair.

"Ow. _Inglaterra, _you're a_ bastardo_."

"I know." Tug. "I'm a _bastardo,_" he mocked in a singsong tone, "who happens to be dating Romano. Who is – not – interested – in – you!" He punctuated each word with another tug on the brown hair and then pushed Spain's head away so that it hit the wall. "Understood?"

"Understood," Spain groaned, getting weakly out of the chair and tottering over to sit with France.

"I'll be sitting here for the rest of the meeting," England told Japan with artificial politeness, as though nothing had happened. He returned to his seat to get his note pad and pen. "I hope this does not cause a problem."

"It is immaterial where you sit, England-san. But it is time for lunch break."

Everyone in the room let out a sigh. England set his note pad and pen next to Romano's. "Would you like to go to lunch, Romano?" he asked, in his most polite tone.

Romano had apparently recovered. "Thank you, bastard. I'd be delighted."

Not waiting to see what happened with the Swissy plan, the two of them joined hands and left the rest of the nations behind.

…

_This day ain't over yet, folks. But the chapter was getting a bit cumbersome._


	55. Relaxation

_Maybe these guys should call themselves the Oblivious Brothers._

_..._

**Relaxation.**

When Prussia entered the hotel restaurant he spotted Romano and England bickering in low tones at a corner booth. Romano was leaning across the table, scowling fiercely and arguing, while England leaned back against the booth and narrowed his eyes without saying much. The albino hurried over to join them, sliding in next to Romano.

"Kesesese! Hi, awesome ones. You were badass, as usual," he told England, reaching over to ruffle his hair, "and I don't know why Spain can't get that through his brain."

"Because he's a fucking idiot?" Romano snorted. "Where's Den?"

"Oh, he's coming along. We're going to keep going with the fake breakup. He's afraid if we try to get back together now, Swissy and America will make trouble about switching rooms. If we leave it until the end of the day, they won't have any choice."

"Good point," Romano said.

A waiter came; Prussia and Romano both panicked. "Don't worry, gits." England placed an order for all three of them in excellent Japanese, and the waiter bowed and moved to the kitchen.

"Bastard. Do you know every fucking language in the entire world?"

England shrugged. "I've had to do business with almost every nation over the years, and unlike bloody America, I don't expect that everyone in the world wants to learn English just to communicate with me. It's common courtesy."

"It's common _awesomeness_. Uncommon awesomeness. I'm so lost here in Japan. Russia, too. Wherever I can't read the writing."

"Don't worry about it; I got a bunch of different things. I'll explain them to you when they get here."

"Cool."

The three sat, musing, as other nations began to filter into the room. "You're bloody brave, Gilbert."

"What? Why?"

"Didn't you see how everyone was drooling over Denmark?"

"If you're talking about Norway, forget it. I'm not worried about Norway." Prussia drank some of his Japanese beer. "Hey, this beer is really good!"

"Japan must have learned about beer making from Germany."

"Dammit."

"Anyway, I didn't think you'd be too concerned about Norway. It's the other gits that worry me."

Both Romano and Prussia stared at England. "Bastard, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"You can't be that oblivious. You just can't." But before England could continue, Denmark slouched into the restaurant.

With America...and Swissy...and Norway.

"Whaaaaaaaaaaa?" Prussia yelled, before Romano clamped a hand over his mouth. The albino shook off his grip. "Is that what you're talking about?"

"Yep. You really didn't notice?" England sipped tea delicately.

Romano shook his head. "I – I saw Norway staring at him, but – but I thought Swissy was flirting with the burger bastard! He was right across the table from him!"

"He was right across the table from Denmark, too, wanker."

Prussia let out a huge whoosh of breath. "I saw America cozying up to Den, but I thought they were talking about Swissy!"

England laughed at his two friends, waggling his eyebrows. "You remember he roomed with America last night, right? Wonder if anything _happened_?"

Romano gave him a shocked but appreciative grin. "Wow. You really are a bastard."

"But you knew that."

Prussia was still staring at Den and his gang, now seated at a large round table almost directly opposite them. "Uh."

"Not worried, are you, Teutonic Potato?"

"Uh."

Romano and England both laughed, and the brunet poked him. "Come on, forget about it. Denmark can deal with it."

Prussia reluctantly turned his head back to the table just as the waiter came with their lunch. "Damn. This is not what I had in mind at all." He put some things on a plate and began to eat, not really paying attention, but darting little peeks towards the Other Table.

"You're not seriously worried, are you, Gilbert? Is your relationship with Den that tenuous?"

"Of course not!" he yelled, slamming a fist onto the table. "Of course not. Denmark is awesomely toying with all of them, so that when he gets back together with me, they can all console each other." He nodded. "Kesesese! You know it's true, right?"

"Except…what about Norway? I don't know much about him," Romano confessed.

"No need to worry about him. Den had plenty of chances to be with him, and…he's with me, so, Norway is not an issue. Eat your awesome lunch."

Shrugging, the others ate their awesome lunch.

…

Denmark sat at the table. Well, since he was stuck with Swissy and America, he'd do his best to further the plan. Except just what was Norway doing with them? Norge wasn't really friendly with Switzerland _or_ America, at least as far as Denmark was aware. Maybe things had changed and he just hadn't noticed.

As the lunch began, though, he began to think that Norway had some kind of weird ulterior motive. Swissy and America were chatting pleasantly with each other and with Denmark himself, but Norway was just sitting there, staring at his food, or staring at Den. Now, Den was aware – almost everyone was aware – that Norge wasn't a blabbermouth. (Not like Prussia. Denmark snorted.) But this was rather bizarre.

"So, how long have you and Prussia been apart now?" Norway asked, point-blank, during a conversational lull.

"Uh." Uh was right! Denmark now understood just what the hell Norge was up to. But he couldn't tell the truth and get rid of him, or he'd blow The Plan to smithereens. Shit. "Uh, just a few days?" Den took a deep breath and hoped he could wing it through the rest of this meal. _Say something, say anything_, he mentally begged Swissy and America.

Nobody said anything.

Thankfully, that included Norway, who bent to his plate and focused on the food.

Denmark had a prime view of his friends, seated right across the room from him, but…he couldn't give them any kind of signal. Damn.

Or, wait. He could talk to England. Since England hadn't been part of the morning Plan, nobody would suspect. "Hey, England!" he yelled, standing up and moving away from the table.

The island nation came over to him, grinning. "What's going on, hot stuff?"

Den bent down to whisper in his ear. "I think Norway is trying to get back together with me."

"Ha ha ha!" England's laughter was loud and merry. "No shit, wanker."

"It's that obvious?"

England raised one impressive eyebrow. "He was gawking at you all morning. Better come up with a plan! Gilbert's waiting for you!" He laughed again, punching Denmark fondly in the arm, and went back to his table.

"I'm not hungry anymore," Denmark said to his table mates. "I'm going to go lie down in my room for a bit."

"Want me to come with you?" America asked. "Since we're in the same room?"

"Sure, if you're done eating, I don't mind."

"Nah, that's fine. I can catch up on the entertainment news channel!" America threw down his napkin and got up from the table. "Just send the bill to my room, Swissy, all right?" he said airily, hurrying after Denmark.

"Sounds good to me," Switzerland said, ordering a few more fancy and expensive dishes.

…

"Where are they going?" Prussia wailed.

"Don't ask me, bastard. Eat your lunch."

"This was the suckiest plan we ever had."

England nodded. "Told you."

"Shut up, Arthur." Prussia put his head down on the table and covered it with his arms.

"Oh, cheer up, albino potato. You know Den loves you."

Even these sage words of Romano's failed to animate the distressed albino.

"Forget it, gits. Come on. Let's go up to our room or something. Sitting around this restaurant watching Gilbert be maudlin is not my idea of a fun time."

"Yeah, all right, bastard. Come on, loverboy, get up," Romano urged, tugging on Prussia's arm.

"I really am in misery," he moaned. "But I'll go."

Together the three friends left the restaurant.

…

_Short and sweet. I'm on vacation for a week so I'll try to have something for you when I get back._


	56. Resolution

**Resolution.**

Denmark headed into the conference room still feeling hungry, and also a little nervous. America hadn't bothered to watch the entertainment news channel at all, but had pelted him with all kinds of questions about Prussia. Could America be interested in the albino? Den's head hurt, and he thought maybe this dumb plan was about the worst thing they'd ever tried to do. He wondered how Prussia and Romano were getting on, and quickly checked to make sure his axe was still where he'd left it. It was.

In the conference room things had changed somewhat. Spain, of course, was now far from Romano, but Norway had moved up to sit beside Swissy, dislodging Canada, who had been there before. Maybe Swissy and Norge had bonded over lunch after he and America had left? Den scratched his head and moved to his seat, elbowing Romano and flashing a smile to England on his other side. Prussia was ignoring them all, writing furiously in his little notebook with a scowl.

Japan convened the afternoon meeting. Bored already, Denmark alternated his attention between America and Prussia, trying to see if the heroic nation really had an interest in the albino, but now that they were in the room, America was leaning over, making little jokes and _sotto voce_ comments to Denmark, or paying attention to the meeting. Prussia was still not looking at anyone.

Norway and Switzerland did not seem particularly friendly with each other. Denmark wondered whether Norway had only changed seats to – to pay attention to _him_. That would be very forward and completely unlike Norge. He leaned over and whispered as much to Romano, who didn't answer, but drew a big broken heart on his note pad and laughed. Denmark cuffed him affectionately on the head. Ah, whatever. The meeting would be over soon, and so would this stupid plan.

"We are done for the day," Japan eventually announced. Nations rose and stretched, most leaving the room.

"Bloody hell. He's really racing us through the agenda," England said to the table in general, slapping his notebook shut.

"Nh. Didn't notice. Too busy watching these other bastards."

Denmark stood up and stretched too. He was about to make his first fake make-up comment to Prussia, when America elbowed him and said happily, "So, Denmark. Want to have dinner with me tonight, dude?"

Den froze. Th-_that's_ what America had been up to? He panicked. Norway, and now America? This plan was in shreds! What would he say? How could he –

Switzerland interrupted his thoughts by pulling out the Nerf gun and fiddling with it, aiming it more or less in America's direction. "I was hoping Denmark would have dinner with me," he stated, frowning subtly and standing up. His cheeks were red but he seemed quite determined.

Denmark's brain was now fully in a panic. What the hell could he say? Sure, it was only a Nerf gun, but he knew Switzerland probably had a real pistol – or more than one – in his room, and might try to get revenge later, if Den turned him down. He looked around, not knowing what to do. Prussia was staring at the table, but England and Romano were both smirking at him. Bastards! He'd get them back later.

"_Danmark_ and I have a lot to talk about." Norge's calm voice broke through. "I believe he should go to dinner with me."

At this, Prussia raised his gaze, and Den was astonished to see a brilliant, happy grin on his face. Almost maniacal. Denmark now realized just how ludicrous the whole situation was, and the panic drained from him immediately, looking at that beloved face. He decided not to say a word, and sat back down, determined to see this – this _bidding war_ through to the end. Denmark plastered a pleasant, noncommittal smile on his face, trying not to snort, as he watched the three interested nations bicker about him.

"Hey, man, Denmark and I are totally good friends now, and he'll go out with me. We have so much in common! He even celebrates my birthday!" America said, to groans from England. Out of the corner of his eye Den saw Romano hug the island nation briefly.

"Denmark doesn't want to date an oaf like you." Switzerland's voice was matter-of-fact. "Not to mention that America is simply too far for him to travel on a regular basis."

"_Danmark_," Norge said, without any further inducement.

This went on for about ten more minutes, and then Iceland shoved his way to the group of arguing nations and tapped Norway on the shoulder. "B-b-big brother," he said nervously, "don't pester Denmark! He's still brokenhearted about losing Prussia! He's not ready to date anyone yet, and all this bickering is probably making him very nervous!"

Denmark was actually rather touched by that. He knew how Ice hated to call Norway "big brother," but he'd done it for Den? He'd thank him later, and explain, even though Ice would probably get pissed off about the fact that this was all a big manipulative plan.

With that, he decided this stupid farce had gone on long enough. Den stood up and stretched, grinning at all of them, but before he could speak, Sweden headed for the group as well. "Oh, not you too, Sve," he said under his breath, but Sweden either didn't hear, or didn't care. America heard, though, and scowled.

"Y'shouldn't be act'ng like ch'ldren," the taciturn blond said, light glinting off his glasses. He drew breath again and Denmark knew he was going to launch into some lecture, so he hurried to speak.

"Listen, guys, I'm really flattered by all this attention." He smiled nicely at all of them, including Sweden, Ice, and his friends. "So many cool nations interested in me! I've listened to all your arguments, and I've made a decision."

Everyone drew a deep breath. Den let the drama build by first meeting the eyes of America, on his right (that nation gave him a thumbs-up and a big toothy grin), then acknowledging Sweden and Ice, who were still standing there, to Norway, who said nothing and in fact didn't even change his stoic facial expression.

Denmark's eyes then moved to Switzerland, who had holstered the Nerf gun and was blushing like mad. And then he looked at Prussia, who was still grinning, pressing his lips together, eyes wide and sparkling. "I choose –"

Everyone swayed subtly forward to hear his decision.

"Romano," Denmark said, bending down and hugging the half-nation.

Prussia and England burst into loud, immediate laughter, and Romano just smirked at all the bidding nations.

"Romano?" America asked, clueless. "If I'd known you were available I'd totally have gone for you!"

_"What?"_ England punched the table, all laughter gone. Prussia howled louder at that, but Romano scowled and broke free of Den's embrace to hug the island nation defiantly.

Denmark was damn insulted by that comment of America's. He turned to loom over him and give him a very evil look.

"Uh, uh…" America said, backing away hastily, but before he could say anything further Switzerland pulled his Luger from some hidden recess and shot the chain holding the chandelier at the front of the room. It fell onto the table, smashing into pieces and startling everyone. Luckily it was at the head of the table, and no one was standing nearby.

"This is ridiculous," Switzerland barked, holstering the pistol and leaving the room.

"I agree, man," from America. "This bites. Let me out of here." He hurried quickly after the Alpine nation.

Sweden shook his head in disappointment and drew Norway out of the room with his arm around him in a brotherly way. Prussia watched them go, still laughing.

Eventually the Skirmish Brothers, England, Iceland and Liechtenstein were the only ones left in the conference room. "How bloody stupid. Come on, gits; let's clean this up before Japan finds out."

"Idiot. Don't you think he'll find out when he sees there's no light?" Romano poked England.

"Shut it. You know what I mean."

Liechtenstein stood at the front of the room, idly gazing out the window, while the others worked to clean up the broken glass. Denmark and Prussia, after a quick hug and kiss, lifted the frame of the chandelier and moved it to the side of the room. The table was dented. "Kesesese! Hope Japan's okay with that. At least he can't blame it on us. We have a ton of witnesses."

Iceland coughed delicately. "Denmark? This was some kind of prank?"

Den nodded and took his "little brother" to the back of the large room to explain it to him. He also took a moment to thank him for intervening. "Sorry if it made you uncomfortable. It didn't quite work out as we'd planned."

Iceland smiled. "It's all right. It was pretty amusing even though it backfired."

Liechtenstein was still standing at the window. "This is unusual," she said.

England, nearest her, asked what she meant.

She gestured out the window. "Bruder and America are leaving the hotel together." There was a short pause. "Oh! They are _holding hands!_" She pressed her palms to her burning cheeks.

There was a frozen moment of disbelief and then all of them began laughing so hard they had to sit down.

Romano wiped his streaming eyes. "Cheh, I knew we could do it, bastards."

"Bloody backwards way to accomplish it, though."

"Never again," Denmark told them all. "Not _ever_. Come on, Teutonic Knights; let's go switch rooms before they get back."

"Kesesese!"

…


	57. Planning for Christmas

_This chapter references chapters 50-56 of "Love in the Modern World" (where they went on their free cruise)._

…

**Planning for Christmas.**

"Well, we could always go on another awesome cruise. Somewhere warm," Prussia said, kicking back in his chair. This meeting was in Paris, and almost everyone was in the conference room. But since France hadn't called the meeting to order yet, they were sitting around discussing possibilities for the last vacation, for this awesome year of vacations.

"Sounds all right to me, bastards. I – uh – I'm sorry I was such a pain in the ass on the last one."

"Aw, Romano, we know you love Arthur!"

The brunet put his head in his hands. Dammit. Nothing would ever change with these bozos.

France walked to the head of the room. "Ah, have to shut up now," Denmark grumbled. "Let's talk about it at lunch."

The others nodded; England, whose right hand was bandaged, began setting up his laptop.

"Hey, France!" Prussia yelled. "Why aren't you starting this meeting? It's getting late!"

France seemed a bit perturbed. "Well, _mon ami_, because _Am__é__rique_ is not here yet! Has anyone seen him?"

Nations began scanning the room for the loud blond. England kept his eyes on his laptop, but raised his voice loud enough to say, artificially, "Oh, America? He won't be joining us for this meeting, Francy-pants."

Most of the nations kept talking, but France, Romano, Denmark and Prussia all looked at the island nation in surprise. Without looking up, and fighting a smirk, he went on, "He's going to be in the hospital for just a _little_ while longer."

"Bastard!" Romano hissed. "You beat him up?"

"I did warn him. Why are you so surprised? From what you told me, he wasn't the world's most attentive boyfriend." England snorted audibly.

"Arthur, you are one badass motherfucker," Prussia said, nodding. "Glad I'm your friend now."

"Not like in the pirate days," Denmark laughed.

"Hah! Forget it! He was badass then, too, but not so friendly. Kesesese!"

Romano was still staring at England in disbelief. "You – you –"

"Shut it, loverboy, and let the frog get the meeting started." England reached under the table and squeezed Romano's hand. Dammit. He _was_ a badass motherfucker! Romano leaned back in his chair and smirked with pride.

"_Bien,_ let's get started," the still-baffled France shrugged, and called the meeting to order.

…

"Right, so, vacation?" Denmark wondered over dinner.

But Prussia and Romano were too busy scoping the hotel restaurant trying to see which nations were together. "Swissy's all alone," Prussia pointed out. "I can't even keep track of those two anymore."

"Shut it, will you? Stop getting involved in other people's love lives, wanker."

But Prussia punched him in the arm. "Kesesese! Are you saying you would rather we'd let you and Romano stew, while he dated America? Huh? Is that what you're saying? Say the words, Arthur, and I'll admit I was totally wrong."

Nobody answered, and England finally sighed. "All right, thank you, Gilbert dear, for meddling in my love life. Now shut the hell up!"

"Yeah, shut up about America, bastard. Let's talk about vacations."

Various cruise destinations were tossed around, including England's suggestion of an Amazon River cruise, which no one else was interested in. (Prussia feared piranha bites.) "How about Alaska?" he asked. "Be cool to see all those glaciers."

"If you recall," Denmark pointed out, elbowing him, "when we were in Seattle we learned they don't have Alaska cruises in the winter. Too cold."

"Cheh. Idiot." But Romano had forgotten that as well. He felt himself turning red and focused on the food.

"That being the case, probably anywhere in a northern destination is un-doable." England drank some tea. "But if we're stuck with southern cruise destinations, that means, the Mediterranean –"

"– which is fucking boring –"

"– or, I don't know, Tahiti, Hawaii or something like that?"

"Hey! Hawaii," Denmark said. "Never been there."

"You know, we don't have to go on a cruise." Prussia peered into his pint glass, which was empty. "We could go somewhere cold, like that time we went to Swissy's place."

"Don't know about that, albino potato. If Swissy's having emotional troubles, we don't want to ask him for any favors."

"True. Well? Where else?"

"Scotland?" Denmark asked, with an arch grin in England's direction.

"Ha bloody ha. No." The blond smacked the table.

Oh, right. Scotland was England's brother. Romano was somewhat curious about that guy, but…not if England said no.

The island nation set his mug down. "Eh, let's not bother with it yet. Are we doing anything after dinner?"

Iceland and Liechtenstein walked in holding hands, and the friends stopped chatting for a few moments to smile at that sight.

"Iceland!" Prussia suddenly yelled.

The two lovebirds stopped on their way to a table and crossed to the four friends. "Hi. What?"

"Oh. No, sorry. I mean, hi, and all that, it's awesome to see you two, but…I was talking about something else."

"Christmas vacation at Ice's place?" Den grinned. "Sounds okay to me."

"You will be coming to Iceland for Christmas?" Liechtenstein asked with an excited smile. "So will I!"

Romano fiddled with his wine glass. "Swissy going to be there?"

"Oh, Bruder has not yet made up his mind about what to do for the holidays. But I don't believe he would be going to Iceland."

"We haven't yet decided what to do," Prussia admitted. "Still kicking ideas around."

Iceland beamed at them all. "Well, you would all be more than welcome. My country is beautiful in the wintertime."

"Maybe we will." Denmark patted his little brother fondly on the arm. "Anyway, we didn't mean to keep you from dinner. Have a good one."

"Thanks." The two moved off.

"Well? Are we awesomely going to go to Iceland, where Swissy will most likely not be?"

"Don't know anything about Iceland, bastard. What's there to do?"

"Bugger all," England laughed. "But if we found a good place, like that place we stayed in Interlaken, well, if there were enough amenities in the house, the rest of it wouldn't matter much."

"Nightlife, though," Denmark told them. "They're nuts. Bars stay open until 4:30 in the morning!"

"Good for making bar bets." Prussia whistled and tried to look nonchalant, and England elbowed him with a grimace.

"New Year's is pretty damn dramatic too. Fireworks aren't illegal, so everybody goes nuts."

"I bet that looks nice, though," England agreed, "though I still don't like listening to them. Maybe I'll take earplugs."

"Well, bastards, you know I'm not much for the crazy nightlife. Dancing and shit. What's there to do during the day?"

"Nature stuff, mostly." Prussia got a dreamy look on his face. "Volcanoes –"

"– cheh, I've got them too –"

"– glaciers, hikes, horseback riding –"

"Uh."

"Is that a no, Romano, you nature-loving freak?" Denmark started laughing at him, and Romano kicked him. "Ow."

"Shut the fuck up. What other options are there?"

"You know," Prussia then said, "we haven't really spent a lot of time together at Den's place. I mean, I'm there all the time, but you two almost never come over. And there's a lot of stuff to do, and that way if you hate it, you could get home a little more easily."

"Why would I hate it, albino potato? What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing! Nothing. I mean, I totally love Denmark. Kesesese. The country, too!"

"Wanker."

The albino blew his boyfriend a kiss. "What do you think, Den? Could we find a good resort kind of town in Denmark to visit for the holidays?"

"Sure. I'll look up some stuff when we get back to the room. But – do you guys really want to do that?"

"I – I'd kind of like to," Romano admitted. "We still haven't seen much of your place."

"Wouldn't mind going to the museum at Aalborg. Haven't been there yet," England mused. "I love military museums."

"Hah." Romano poked him. "How come you're so bloodthirsty all of a sudden, Mister Badass Motherfucker?"

"Not all of a sudden, git. It's always there; I just keep it under wraps most of the time."

"Dammit. Remind me not to piss you off."

"_Again,_" England laughed, and then the rest of them did too.

"Okay. Cool, so…Denmark for Christmas! Now that we got that out of the way…who are we going to prank tonight, kesesese?"

…

_A long time ago Forever-Awesome94 suggested they spend more time at Den's place. Since I couldn't come up with any fancy vacation plan, it seemed like a good time to explore that. I've never been to Denmark. If you have any specific thing that you'd like to see them do while they're there, please let me know! Thanks for reading my stories._


	58. Insufficient Focus

**Insufficient Focus.**

"I don't know about this," England worried. "I mean, pranking any _other_ nation, I'd do it, but…"

"I don't know him well enough. He's not much of a bastard, is he?"

"Not at all!" Prussia flagged down the waiter for some more drinks. "He's pretty nice, if you can get to know him."

"Hah. If only he'd keep his mitts off Hans Island, I'd be happy to hang out with him, but…no."

"So it's agreed, then?" Prussia asked. "I mean, Arthur, you can just go to bed or something if you don't want to be part of the prank. I know he's sort of close to you."

"Thanks a lot. Well, am I going to be able to keep a straight face? I'd rather know just what the hell you gits are planning, so I know how to act."

"I don't even remember what Canada looks like." Romano scanned the room. "What does he look like?"

"He's America's twin! What do you think he looks like, wanker?"

"Kesesese! Maybe he wants to go out with Romano!"

"Shut up," everyone else said. "Seriously, Teutonic Knights, shut up about all that," Den added.

"No shit, albino potato." Romano kicked him under the table.

"Ow. All right, you party poopers. Well, what kind of prank? It's hard to think of something for Canada. He's so unassuming." Prussia drank some of his new beer. They really were a bunch of party poopers. He himself was going to tease America remorselessly about that, next time he saw him. Kesesese!

Denmark smirked a little. "Maybe we should all just make it a point to pay attention to Canada for the rest of the meeting. Maybe it would freak him out."

"Bastard, that's heartless! Not like a real prank. Because what happens when the next meeting rolls around and everyone's ignoring him again? He's too sensitive to treat that way, from what you say."

After Romano had made this point, the Skirmish Brothers reluctantly decided not to bother pranking Canada.

"Where's Russia tonight? I haven't seen him since the meeting broke up."

"Don't. Do not tell me we're going to try to pull something on him. That bastard gives me the creeps!"

"I'm not surprised. I had to live at his place for a while, and it was not awesome at all. Brutal, in fact." Prussia put on a pout.

"Eh, forget all that," England suggested. "How about Francy-pants?"

"Did him," the other three sighed.

"What? No, don't even tell me. All right, how about…Spain?"

"Did him too."

The island nation gave them all a funny look. "Just how long have you wankers been going around pranking people? Did you ever prank _me_? You're freaking me out!"

He looked so alarmed that the other three began laughing at him. "Bastard, we never tried to prank you. And believe me, we never will."

"Good."

"Anyway, you and Romano started dating right around the time we all started hanging out together, so…it wouldn't have been very cool to try anything with you."

"Thank you, Denmark," England said graciously, raising his bottle in a toast.

"Hey, how about your brother?" Den poked Prussia in the shoulder. "You ought to be able to come up with all kinds of stuff to pull on him."

"Yes!" Romano yelled. "Let's prank the fucking potato bastard!"

Hm. "Well, he's rooming with Veneziano, of course. What if we get them both at once?"

An evil grin appeared on Romano's face. "I'm in, bastards. Completely." He nudged England. "You in?"

"Depends what you've got in mind. No matchmaking shite, remember?"

"Dammit. I thought we could break them up."

"You know, that might work! Kesesese, yes, I've got it, I've totally got it. Good thing you and I are both part of this deal, Romano. Come on, listen to me." He beckoned with a finger. The other three leaned forward conspiratorially to listen to Prussia's breakup plan, whispered to them in a flutter of excitement.

"Ha ha ha!" Denmark's laugh rang out so loudly that everyone in the restaurant turned to look at them. "You've got to be joking. There's no way Romano could pretend to be Veneziano, not even for a good prank like this one."

"Bastard! What the hell are you trying to say?"

Denmark wheezed with laughter. "Look at you. You seriously think you can hide in the bathroom and say sweet nothings to Germany? Even just to fake-break up with him? You can't even get through a whole sentence without cursing." He pinched Romano's cheek, still laughing.

Romano smacked his hand away. "Fucking idiot."

This just made them all laugh a little louder. "Yeah, you're right, Den. Let's come up with something else." Prussia finished his beer.

…

By midnight they were all drunk and had no plan. Romano was leaning against England, smiling goofily at everyone, but not speaking much; England and Prussia had begun arguing over military superiority, and Denmark just kept drinking and grinning at them. He knew who the military might was, at this table. Yes, indeed. You didn't see Prussia or England carrying an axe around! Well, not that he actually had it with him right now, but...theoretically. _Metaphorically_. Yeah.

"You have to leave the bar," France said, sauntering over somewhat drunkenly with his arm around Spain.

"_Hola,_ Lovi."

Romano completely ignored this, except to take England's hand under the table.

"Why do we have to leave? Hey, man," Prussia said to the drunken Spain.

"The bar is closing! Get out and go back to your rooms. _Merde,_" France muttered, "I hate hosting meetings."

"Everybody hates hosting meetings, frog-face. We're going. Come on, loverboy," England said to Romano, wrapping an arm around his waist and hoisting him up from the table.

"Yeah, come on, Teutonic Knights. We can finish this damn discussion tomorrow, if anybody really cares."

"Oh, all right," Prussia grumbled, rising.

Romano was so drunk that England had to half-carry him, but still sober enough that he looked back at Spain, giggling at him and giving him the finger.

"Oh, Lovi," Spain sighed.

"Forget it, _mon ami_. Come back to my place," France suggested, stroking Spain's hair.

"Okay!" The two of them weaved erratically out of the bar.

"Bastards."

…

_One of these days I'm going to put a good France-Spain chapter into "Love in the Modern World." And an IceLiech. And America with…whichever nation he ends up with…_


	59. Learn Your Lessons Well

**Learn Your Lessons Well.**

"I'm not going to the meeting," Romano groaned the next morning, pulling a pillow over his head. "I'm dying."

"Don't die," a more cheerful England said, leaping out of the bed. "But it's all right if you want to stay here. I'll share my notes later."

"Thanks."

He heard England bustle into the bathroom, whistling that stupid "Land of Hope and Glory," which hurt Romano's head, but he was too hung over to bother complaining.

Eventually the island nation was ready to go. He sat on the bed and gave Romano a soft kiss on the forehead, stroking his cheek. "You were awesome last night, little kitten," he murmured with a smile. "_Very_ sexy."

"Meow," the sleepy brunet grinned, burrowing under the covers.

…

When he woke up for real, he felt a lot better, except for a full bladder, a monumental thirst, and the remains of a headache. Romano took care of all that – hm, those were his last two aspirins; he'd need to get more later, in case he got bombed again tonight, hah – and treated himself to a long, hot shower.

That definitely helped. He was quite optimistic as he bustled around the hotel room getting dressed. It was kind of cold today, so he planned to wear a new sweater.

He pulled it out of the dresser. This striped, cozy sweater had been a gift from Estonia while on their cruise. The Baltic nation had given Den a black and red one, and the albino potato a blue and white one. They were really nice and cushy, though not as soft as the one England had knit him.

It hadn't really registered with Romano before, but now, looking at it, he saw that it was striped in amber and brown, bright green and pale yellow. His eyes and hair – England's eyes and hair. Had Estonia done this on purpose?

But no. Romano had "broken up" with England long before the cruise. Why would Estonia – oh, well, maybe he hadn't understood about the breakup, yet, at that point.

Pulling the sweater on, he thought about some of Estonia's comments that day. And there were two comments he remembered the Baltic nation making that hadn't made any sense at the time. One was that America was a heartless blabbermouth, and the other was that Estonia had always appreciated how close Romano was to the northern nations. At the time he supposed that had meant Den, and even Prussia, but maybe he'd meant England, too?

Romano ran his hands over the sweater. Maybe Estonia had been subtly trying to push him back together with England. Huh. Maybe he'd buy the Baltic nation a drink, for that.

Well, it was too late to go to the meeting; soon they'd be breaking for lunch. Romano decided to do some internet research to prepare for their trip to Denmark. He booted up his new tablet PC and began to browse.

…

"Bastards, I've been thinking about it, and I know I can pretend to be Veneziano. I really want to pull that prank."

"You're serious? All right, get through the rest of lunch without any swearing. And – and speak in a voice like his, too. As a test." Denmark laughed. "Bet you can't."

"Not taking that bet," Romano said, in a Veneziano-ish voice.

"Hey! That was awesome, you sounded just like him!"

"You have to do your part, too, al-, uh, Prussia," Romano said cheerfully. But he couldn't keep the smirk off his face.

"Bollocks. You're giving me the creeps."

Prussia poked Romano in the arm. "Don't forget to put a few 've's' in there. Germany will never believe it's Veneziano, if you don't."

"_Veeee~_," Romano said, and then grimaced. "Dam—oh, Prussia, _ve_, Prussia!" He raised his eyebrows, seeking approval.

The others all laughed at him. "Right! Well, after dinner tonight we can awesomely try it, as long as we can figure out where they are. What restaurant, or whatever. We'll have to all head upstairs at the same time."

"Okay. So we know the bloody plan? I'm going to help," England decided. "This sounds like fun, and I don't want to miss it."

"Right. You go with Teutonic Knights, and I'll go with Romano." Denmark finished his lunch and pushed the plate away. "These snails sucked."

"Don't order them, then! Uh, _ve_," Romano appended hastily, making his friends laugh.

"That's a nice sweater," England now said to him. "I – er – I hope you're not letting other nations knit you sweaters. I kind of considered that my own special privilege."

"Kesesese! Estonia gave us each one, while we were on the cruise."

"Oh! I've been reading about that yarn, but haven't ever worked with it." England petted Romano's arm. "Feels warm. Estonia's beginning to be very well-known for this stuff."

"That reminds me – _ve_ – I want to buy him a drink. Is he here?"

They all looked for Estonia, who was not there.

"Well, no probs, Romano, you can get him one later. At dinner or whatever."

"Sounds good. Okay. Do you think I managed to sound all right, _ve_?" Romano kept shaking his head, frowning and grimacing, but he did sound just like Veneziano.

"Awesomely all right. Those two are going to be in such terrible trouble! Kesesese!"

…

The friends easily talked Germany and Veneziano into joining them in town for dinner. England's duty was to ensure that Veneziano drank a lot. Didn't matter if it was alcoholic or not; they wanted to force him into a men's room somewhere before he got to his hotel room. Denmark's duty was to keep Germany conversationally occupied so he didn't notice what was going on with Veneziano. Romano and Prussia would play their parts later.

Together the six nations stumbled back to the hotel; it was a cold night and felt like rain, or maybe even snow. "Kesesese! I love wintertime."

Apparently England had done an attentive job; Veneziano was walking funny, and quickly. "Ve. I heard you all are going to Denmark for Christmas! That should be fun."

"That reminds me, bastards, I did some research today of stuff I want to go see and do."

"Awesome! Den, we have to take them to Legoland."

"Chigi! I'm not going to any fucking kids' park."

"Ve, but Romano, it always sounds like a very fun place to go! You should do it."

"We _should_ do it," England agreed. "I'd like to see how the original one in Denmark compares to the one in Windsor."

"You – you've _been_ to Legoland, bastard?" Romano asked in disbelief.

"Of course I have. I like Pirate Falls. It's one of those log flume rides that you two like so much," he said to Germany and Veneziano.

"Ve, maybe we should go to Windsor one of these days, Germany. It would be different to go to Legoland, instead of a regular amusement park."

"I don't mind at all, Italy." Germany beamed at his shorter friend.

"_Chigi,_" Romano muttered again, just quiet enough that everyone could pretend not to hear him.

"No, I have a great idea," Prussia then said. "We can go to all the Legolands and rank them! That can be our project for next year."

"Absolutely not. I've had a fucking miserable year running around with you wackos, and next year is going to be all about me and England. Alone."

"What do you mean 'alone,' git?"

"Uh. I meant alone together, not with these bastards or anybody else."

"That's all right with me." England blew him a kiss.

They'd reached the hotel by now. "Ve. I really, really need the rest room," Veneziano complained. "You go up, Germany. I'll use the one in the lobby and meet you upstairs."

"Ah, I might as well stop down here as well," Germany said. Catching each other's eyes, the four friends followed them into the lobby men's room.

Denmark and Germany finished first and left the room. Romano followed at a distance.

…

"Ve? Where's Germany? Oh, I guess he went upstairs?"

"Well, you know, Veneziano, I heard him saying last week that he was thinking of breaking up with you. Not awesome, I know, but…maybe he just went off to get away from you."

England pressed his hands into his eye sockets. Gilbert was the stupidest, least subtle prankster that ever –

"Oh, Prussia, ve! Are you serious? Oh, that's so sad!" Veneziano burst into tears, covering his face, and Prussia's crimson eyes flicked to England. The albino put his arm around North Italy.

"Don't cry. Come on, let's go have a drink in the bar and talk about this."

England shrugged. Maybe subtle wouldn't work on Veneziano.

Seated in the bar area, Veneziano simply continued to wail 've' and rub his eyes. Prussia put an arm around him and held him close, while England was in charge of obtaining drinks and snacks. He did this and hurried back to the table, where nothing had changed.

"Prussia, ve, Prussia," the auburn-haired nation wailed, sounding just like Romano had at lunchtime.

"Have a drink," England said, hastily pushing a martini towards the younger nation. He really did not want to listen to this whining all night.

"Ve. I don't want a drink. Oh, Germany, ve, Germany," he wailed to his absent boyfriend.

Russia stopped by the table. "Germany giving you trouble? I can take care of him for you, da?" He smiled and brandished his water pipe threateningly.

"It's all r-right," Prussia stammered. "We have it under control."

"Whatever you say, Prussia." Russia sauntered away, still grinning.

"Bollocks." England sought for something to make Veneziano stop crying. "I wonder if Germany's all right."

Whoops. That may not have been a wise comment. Veneziano cried louder. "Oh, Germany needs me to make his hot water bottle for him every night! Oh, ve, no, this is all so sad!"

"Calm down," Prussia told him. "Drink your drink." He held the martini to Veneziano's lips, and he drank.

"Ve, thank you, Prussia. You've always been so good to me." He looked at the albino with misty eyes, and then turned to the blond. "But – but England, ve, why aren't you with Romano? Did you two break up again?"

"Er. No. I – I just thought you needed looking after? Romano will understand." Hah. Bloody hell, why did he get involved in this? He was already ready to leave the room. And what if Veneziano asked where his brother was? What would they say? They hadn't planned this very well at all.

"Ve, I hope so."

England rolled his eyes at Prussia, who barely refrained from snickering aloud. The island nation sighed and began to sip his ale, wondering how Den and Romano were faring with Germany.

…

"Here you go," Denmark whispered to Romano. "England picked your brother's pocket in the men's room."

They were in the hall outside Germany and Veneziano's room; Romano took the key card and then took a deep, deep breath. "Will you come hide in the bathroom with me? I'm – I'm kind of scared now. If he finds out it's me, and not my idiot brother – "

"Sure. Just keep the door shut enough that he can't see inside."

"Okay. I'm going to go in and slip right into the bathroom. Stay right behind me."

"Got it, chief," Den said, making his companion snarl.

They made it without Germany seeing them, although he must have heard them, because he said, "Italy? Is that you?"

Romano cleared his throat. "It's me, Germany," he said, and Den mouthed "ve" so he quickly said, "Uh, ve."

"Are you all right? You seemed to be in the rest room for a very long time."

"I, I need to stay in the bathroom for a little while yet, ve." Romano rolled his eyes. Denmark was giggling silently, because Veneziano was going to get a very weird reputation after tonight. "I'm not, ve, feeling well."

"Is there anything I can bring you?" Germany's voice was much closer to the door.

"No thank you, ve."

Romano waited until the potato bastard's footsteps had retreated. "You know, _Germany_," he said, and Den shook his head – that tone of voice wouldn't work! – "sometimes I think we should break up. Ve."

What? Denmark sank his face into his hands. How blunt. This was never going to work.

"What?" Germany's voice echoed Denmark's thoughts. "You want to break up with me, Italy?"

They heard him walk back towards the bathroom and Denmark flushed the toilet. "Push the door closed," he hissed to Romano while the water ran. Romano pushed the door shut, but didn't lock it.

"Uh, maybe now isn't the best time to talk about it, ve, Germany," Romano said, rolling his eyes.

"I – well, we can certainly talk about it when you come out of there. I – I'm going to sit on the bed and read."

"Ve, well, whatever you want, I guess. Ve."

Denmark shook his head and turned on the sink. "This is so fucking stupid," he whispered. "How the hell are we going to get out of the hotel room?"

"I don't know, bastard! Didn't you figure something out, ve?"

Den snorted. "No, _ve,_ I didn't! Damn. Maybe Prussia and England can help."

"How? Can you call them on your cell while the water's running?"

Just then Denmark's cell phone rang. He and Romano panicked with wide eyes and Romano hurriedly flushed again for background noise, while Denmark grabbed the phone and answered it. "What?" he hissed.

But Germany spoke first. "Italy? Is the water still running?"

"Dammit!" Romano muttered.

Den shushed him and held the phone to his ear. "What?"

"This is so bloody stupid," England said. Denmark could hear the noise of the bar. "All he's doing is sitting here whining. I want to escape but Gilbert just keeps buying him drinks."

"Well, we're trapped in the bathroom! We can't figure out how to get out of here without Germany seeing us!"

"Bollocks. All right, how about if we bring him up and call it off? We'll get you out of there while Germany is distracted. Gilbert won't be happy, but at least this stupid plan will be over."

"Yeah, fine. Bring him up. See – " But before Denmark could ring off, Germany had shoved the door open and stood there staring at him and Romano in disbelief. "Whoops," Den said into the phone.

"Just what the hell is going on here?" Germany thundered. Romano immediately climbed into the bathtub and shut the shower curtain.

Denmark, who still hadn't hung up, heard England's laughter through his phone. "We'll be right up," the island nation yelled, and Den ended the call.

"Romano? Denmark?" An irate Germany grabbed the shower curtain and ripped it back, exposing a cowering Romano, who looked up fearfully and said, "Ve?"

…

By the time England, Prussia and Veneziano arrived, Romano was a gibbering bundle of nerves. Germany had made him and Denmark sit on the bed, and he lectured them for several minutes about their pranking and cruelty (while not failing to mention their complete ineptitude). Romano felt like shit, he was certain the fucking potato bastard was going to beat the crap out of him – Denmark or no Denmark – and he just wanted to run and hide behind a big white flag somewhere. Dammit!

A knock at the door interrupted the tirade. Germany pushed his hands through his hair, messing it up, and walked over to the door.

"Ve, Germany! Don't break up with me!" Veneziano launched himself at the potato bastard.

"I don't want to break up with you, Italy!" Germany sounded astonished. "Why would you think that?"

Prussia and England had frozen in the doorway, looking at Romano and Den sitting on the bed. "Come on," Prussia mouthed silently, but, fuck! The two "reunited" lovebirds were blocking their exit! Romano rubbed his hands violently through his hair and yelled, "Dammit!"

"Romano," Germany began again, but Veneziano interrupted.

"Oh, ve, fratello, don't break up with England again! He's so thoughtful and bought me so many drinks!"

Both Denmark and Romano looked at England with bewildered expressions, and he just shrugged.

Fuck this. "Let me out of here," Romano barked, shoving his way past all these idiotic losers and into the hallway.

"Come on, Den!" Prussia yelled, and Denmark stumbled out after them.

"And stay out!" Germany shouted, slamming the hotel room door.

"Fuck, ve," Romano snapped.

"Please stop saying 've,'" England begged him. "It was bad enough I had to listen to your brother crying it out all night."

"How did we do so badly tonight? Our other pranks are always awesome!" Prussia scratched his head. "Well, whatever. At least it was fun."

"Fun for _you,_ albino potato! Your stupid bastard of a brother lectured my fucking ear off!" Romano kicked him.

"Ow, Romano!"

Denmark hugged the brunet. "But you were a trooper. You tried really hard, and if the bathroom door had been locked we might have found a way to do it. I'm proud of you."

England took Romano's hand. "Didn't I say? No more matchmaking shite?"

"Yes, Arthur, you awesomely warned us."

"Believe me, I think the lesson has finally hit home." Denmark laughed and picked up the still-angry Romano, spinning him around with a grin. "Want to go have some drinks, awesome friends?"

"No!" Romano pounded on Denmark's shoulders with no visible effect. "I want to crawl in a hole and die."

"Don't die," England said cheerfully, and that reminded Romano of this morning, and _that_ reminded him of last night. Hm.

When Denmark set him down he hurried to England's side and took his hand. "We're going to our room, bastards. We'll see you at the meeting tomorrow, and we will _not_ try any more matchmaking, or un-matchmaking, bullshit! Ever! Got that?"

"Got it, kesesese! Have an awesome night!" Prussia put his arm around Den and they headed downstairs to the hotel bar.

…

_About the sweater: this is another one I knit a while back. Estonia is becoming known for these long striping yarns. The most famous brand here in the US is actually Kauni, a Danish brand, but they buy the yarn from the Estonian mill and put their own brand name on it. I mentioned it to (who else) Skadiyoko, and we started discussing whether Estonia ships Engmano, and that's how that bit of plot came to be in this chapter._

_Emo Dreamer's review convinced me to have them try out this prank. I was kind of afraid it would turn out this way, which is why I'd nixed it in the previous chapter, but…it was worth seeing how it played out. Thanks to all of you awesome readers and reviewers!_


	60. The Write Stuff

**The Write Stuff.**

Romano woke up very early one morning, getting out of bed and throwing on some clothes. "Huh?" England asked sleepily.

"Don't worry about it, little kitten," the brunet whispered. "You're sleepy. This is all a dream." He kissed England's forehead and waited nervously until he'd gone back to sleep, then finished dressing and slipped out the door.

He hurried down to meeting room K. Prussia and Denmark were waiting for him in the brightly-lit hallway. "Kesesese!"

"Please keep it down, potato brain. If anybody catches us –"

"All right! Let's go." Denmark picked the lock on the conference room door and the three friends went inside.

…

When England woke up, Romano was sleeping next to him. Huh. He wondered why he'd dreamt of his friend leaving him. "Wake up, git. Meeting time."

"Uh. Yeah, all right. Dammit, my wrist hurts," he blurted out, before catching himself.

But England hadn't been paying attention. "What?"

"Nothing." Romano stretched and got out of the bed; within minutes both friends were ready to leave the room.

"Bastard, I –"

"What?" England pulled him close for a little kiss.

"Nothing." Romano kissed back. "Let's go to the fucking meeting."

…

Downstairs, the meeting room was still empty. "Uh, where are Den and the albino potato?"

"Beats me. Come in, let's sit down."

"Uh, not just yet. Let's wait for them."

England narrowed his eyes. "What the bloody hell are you wankers up to now?"

"Shh! Shh!" Romano flapped his hands in a panic. "Just play along, all right, dammit?" Dammit. He should have known.

But England just sighed. "All right. If it makes you happy." He rolled his eyes and put his arm around the brunet, leaning back against the wall. "Snuggle up to me."

"What? What the hell for?"

The island nation smirked. "To ensure my cooperation? Ah, come on, git, just relax with me." He smiled, and Romano allowed himself to relax against him; they talked in low whispers while waiting for their friends.

Nations began trickling in; Spain and France were practically dancing as they walked up to the door together. "_Bon jour, Angleterre. _Romano."

_"Bon jour_ yourself, frog face. Have a nice night?"

"Ohonhonhon…"

Spain blushed, at that. "_Hola,_ Lovi."

Romano was about to snap back his usual "Don't '_hola _Lovi' me," but he felt pretty good this morning, so he just smiled enigmatically and nestled closer to England. Surprisingly, the tomato-brained bastard didn't seem disturbed by this; he smiled too, and went into the room with France.

"Well, that went well," England said, making his friend laugh.

Ah, here came the bastards. "Hey," he said, trying to be nonchalant.

"Kesesese! Good morning, you awesome boys. Come into the meeting room and get some breakfast before it's all gone."

Romano noticed that England had narrowed his eyes at the other two, but didn't say anything. They went into the room.

The breakfast buffet was indeed swarming with nations. "I'll get coffee if you get food, Den."

"Sure thing." Denmark punched Prussia in the shoulder and moved to the food table.

"Sounds like a good idea, git. Will you get us something to eat?"

"Yeah. Hurry up." Romano was now a little nervous.

When everyone had been seated, nations began pulling out pens and notebooks, or booting up laptops or other note-taking technology. France had placed cups of free pens down the center of the long conference table; a lot of nations reached for these, although many of them had special pens they liked to use. Romano did; he had a beautiful limited edition Monteverde. He uncapped it, scanning the room for others. The brunet watched Switzerland take out a fountain pen. Prussia and Den were looking around eagerly as well; Den had a fancy rollerball he always used.

Hm. Who else brought fancy pens? Russia took his from his briefcase. Cuba, Vietnam, that guy he never remem–oh, right, that was Canada, America's twin. Bulgaria, China, Japan. His idiot brother, but not the cheap-ass potato bastard (he suppressed a snort). Austria, of course; he always used an elegant fountain pen. Romano grinned as he noticed it was a match for Swissy's. Guess they were dating again.

Uh. England was using a fountain pen and note pad today, instead of using the free ones from the perverted bastard. Well, he'd hope for the best.

"_Bien_, everyone, if we get started we might be able to end early," France said. Everyone focused.

…

About two minutes later Germany began shaking his free pen madly. Prussia kicked Romano under the table and they stifled grins as he shook it and shook it before tapping it on the paper and trying to write. His expression was perplexed.

Prussia looked up and down the table. Yep. A lot of people were having trouble with their free pens. But the people who had brought their own pens were focused on the meeting and not paying attention to this.

Eventually people started giving up and taking fresh pens from the free pen cups. Prussia almost snorted as he noticed some nations putting the bad pens back into the cups. Losers! He stifled a "kesesese" and squeezed Denmark's hand surreptitiously. Den didn't look up, but kept taking notes with his rollerball.

By midmorning all the free pen users were in a flap. Some of them had borrowed spares from their neighbors; some of them had simply stopped taking notes. But nobody seemed to think this pen drama might be intentional. The albino sighed in pleasure and leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head.

France skipped the midmorning break, because everyone wanted to get to lunch early. By this point almost everyone had settled down and was paying attention. Prussia pulled out a cheap rollerball and began to take notes.

"Psst!" Romania, one of the free pen users, tried to get his attention. "Got any more of those?"

Prussia nodded. Romania hastily pulled out two Euro coins and slid them across the table; Prussia gave him a pen. Sweet! He hadn't thought about the moneymaking opportunities. He heard a snort from Denmark and raised his gaze to see both Den and Romano laughing at him silently. He gave them both a toothy grin and pulled another cheap rollerball out of his pack.

Belarus looked like she was going to ask him for it, but then her attention was caught by Russia. Prussia kept writing flagrantly with the cheap rollerball.

Down the table, Liechtenstein was looking harassed, because Iceland kept trying to take her fountain pen.

A note and two Euro coins came sliding down the table towards Prussia. "Sell me your pen?" Finland had written.

Prussia sent the note back with his pen, and kept the coins.

Soon the free pen users were completely ignoring the meeting and trying to buy pens from the albino. "Awesome," he let himself whisper, and felt Denmark patting his shoulder. Within ten minutes he'd made back double what the cheap rollerballs had cost, and people were still trying to buy them!

"What is going on?" France finally barked.

But by that point, everyone who'd started out with a free pen now had one of Prussia's cheap stick rollerballs, and everyone was able to pay attention. Nations either put on innocent looks, or smirked at France, which was, of course, what Prussia did.

All of the nations with fancy personal pens had missed the drama entirely. Prussia leaned back, relaxing, and waited for lunch break.

…

"What did you write in your notebook, anyway, albino potato?" Romano grabbed the notebook and read "I'm going to sell a lot of pens today" and started laughing. "Well, you got that right."

Denmark laughed and threw his rollerball in the air, catching it on the way down. "What a morning. How much did you make?"

"Fifty Euros! And the pack of pens only cost eighteen. Kesesese!"

But England, who had been using his own pen and paying attention to France, was baffled. "What are you gits talking about now?"

"Oh, nothing, Arthur. Come on, leave your stuff here and let's get some lunch."

"I don't want to leave my things here!"

Denmark punched him. "Don't worry about it. You know France always locks the door, and everybody else left their stuff here. It's not like someone's going to steal it."

The nations looked around. They were the last ones in the room, except for France, who was irritably waiting by the door with Spain. "Come along, you slackers," Spain teased.

"Kesesese! We're coming." The four friends left the room and France locked it behind them.

…

"Damn. I forgot I have some stuff for Sweden up in my room. Let me go get it; order me something good, and I'll be down in a minute." Denmark got up and ran out of the restaurant.

"Okay, Den!" he heard Prussia call after him.

He hurried back to Room K and picked the lock, closing the heavy oak door behind him. Good. Nobody here, and plenty of time to work. Denmark did what he was supposed to do, very quickly, and came out of the room, locking it behind him once more.

"Where's your Sweden stuff?" England asked him, when he came back empty-handed.

Whoops. "I, uh, couldn't find it?" He scratched his head. "Ah, it's not really a problem. I'll get it for him later."

"We ordered you some food, Den."

"Not snails, I hope." He drank a little coffee and peered at his plate.

"Nope. Look how cool we are. We got you a _croque norvégien_!"

Denmark nodded happily. "Yep. You are my awesome brothers." He beamed at them all and began to eat his smoked salmon sandwich.

…

France unlocked the meeting room and everyone filtered in to begin the afternoon session. People with Prussia pens picked them up and sat attentively; those nations who had left their personal pens in the room looked for them.

"Why is my pen all the way over at your seat, Latvia?" Russia asked menacingly.

"I – I – I don't know!" Latvia began to cry and ran out of the room.

"I don't care what you bastards say, that kid is hilarious."

"Shut it, wanker. Where's my pen?"

"And mine!" Denmark looked around in confusion.

Eventually England's pen was discovered near Veneziano's chair. The blond narrowed his eyes, but didn't say anything, instead just took the pen back to his chair wordlessly. Denmark's rollerball turned up at Japan's seat. He frowned down at the dark-haired nation and snatched the pen back, storming over to his seat.

In a few more minutes all the fancy-pen nations had located their correct pens and sat down with confused expressions on their faces. Prussia checked his bag to make sure he had some more pens to sell, and then kicked back to listen to the meeting.

…

Soon Belarus threw down her Prussia pen in anger. She didn't say anything, but absently reached for one of the free pens. The friends watched her try to scribble with it, but apparently it wasn't working. She picked up the Prussia pen again, scribbling, and didn't get any joy.

"Prussia," she hissed.

"What?"

"This pen is a piece of junk!" She scooted it along the table towards him. "It's out of ink already!"

"Hey, nobody said they were top quality pens."

She sighed. "Give me another one," she demanded, holding out her hand.

"Two Euros," he laughed back, holding out his hand in return.

There was a stalemate for about fifteen seconds and then Belarus noticed Ukraine smirking and waggling her fountain pen. Belarus pulled out two more Euro coins and slapped them into Prussia's hand with irritation. He gave her a fresh pen and returned to his writing.

This little drama was repeated all over the room between lunch and the midafternoon break. The general noise level of the room was much higher now, because the free pen people were getting really irritated. "This is so awesome," Prussia murmured to Denmark.

"What are you writing?" Denmark turned the notebook to face him.

"A totally epic poem about marketing. I'll show you later; I'm not done yet." The albino grabbed the notebook back and began scribbling again.

"All right, everyone," France eventually sighed. "Nobody is paying attention and I'm tired of listening to the sound of my own voice, beautiful though it is." He winked and tossed his hair back. "We will have a half-hour midafternoon break and begin again afterwards. Yes, we may run late tonight, but you are all driving me _complètement fou!_"

A break sounded like a good idea right now. Almost everyone fled the room; they were all so eager to leave that they left all their things behind.

…

"I hope we don't run too late tonight," England groused. "I actually thought Francy-pants was making good progress as a host, because this morning went really well. But if we have to keep stopping –"

"Don't worry about it. We can all focus." Denmark patted him on the shoulder as they walked outside.

"Where's Romano, anyway?" Prussia asked them, looking around.

"Eh, had to go back to the room for something. He'll meet us in the meeting room."

"Oh. Okay." Prussia grinned.

"Are we doing anything fun tonight? We could go cause a ruckus on the Eiffel Tower." Denmark tried to spot it from their current location, but could only see the point because of all the other buildings in the way.

"Drunk or not drunk? Kesesese!"

"Hey, we can cause a ruckus without being drunk. I'll take my axe."

"Won't get very far. The bloody gendarmes would stop you."

"But it's just a cultural artifact," Den grinned, poking the island nation.

"We could try. I don't see why not. We haven't caused a good public ruckus in a long time," Prussia considered.

Romano came running down the hotel steps with a grin. "Come on, bastards, it's time for the meeting to start."

They all hurried back inside, hoping to finish on time.

…

"Ve, what happened to my nice pen?" Veneziano asked.

Similar comments were coming from all the fancy pen users around the room. Denmark started lifting up papers and notebooks, seeking his rollerball; many nations got down on hands and knees to look for their pens on the floor.

All the owners of Prussia's cheap pens sat down and acted smug.

China was quite distressed. "My pen was a limited edition Montegrappa with the Eternal Bird on it! It cost a fortune-aru!"

France tried in vain to control the increasingly-agitated nations, many of whom had sat down with their heads in their hands and some of whom (Veneziano, Latvia) had begun to cry.

"Da," Russia agreed. "I am quite angry at the loss of my pen." He smiled benignly at the nations near him, lifting his briefcase and opening the catches.

Fancy pens spilled out of the briefcase all over the table. "Russia!" Bulgaria yelled, grabbing his pen. "Why did you take my pen?"

"And mine!" "Give me my pen!" The room dissolved into complete mayhem as nations fought to get their pens back from the baffled Russia, who stood there holding his empty briefcase and listening to the insults and threats aimed at him.

Romano looked around the room; the only nation not paying attention was, in fact, England, who had his head on the table, covered by his arms. Heh. The brunet nudged him with his knee, and England just shook his head, not raising it.

"Russia, you really should stop stealing pens from people!" Denmark shouted, grabbing his rollerball. He bared his teeth viciously and sat back down.

"Right! Stop! Everyone stop and sit down!" the flustered France yelled.

By this point everyone had recovered their appropriate writing instruments and they all sat down, trying to calm their agitation; many still kept darting dirty looks at Russia.

"_Bien._ Now, let's get started. _Angleterre?_" France asked delicately, since England was still hiding his face.

The island nation shook his head, still not looking up.

"Suit yourself, _mon ami._"

But Prussia could not restrain a tiny little "Kesesese," and in the tense room it sounded like the hissing of a cannon's fuse.

"Prussia! You did this, didn't you?" Russia realized, gesturing to not only the people with their own pens in hand, but also to the nations using the cheap pens the albino had sold.

All of those free pen users – most of whom had shelled out at least four Euros today – turned to look at the grinning Prussia with dawning irritation. England tried to hide under the table.

"Awesome prank, wasn't it?" Prussia waggled his eyebrows.

But Russia leaped over the conference table, ice pick in hand. "I'm going to kill you now, da?" He chased Prussia right out of the room; all the free pen buyers got up and followed, enraged, streaming out of the conference room behind them and screaming obscenities at the albino. _"Kesesese..."_ the others heard, as the group ran away.

…

_Thanks to Ellenthefox for the pen swap prank idea. I also managed to get an appropriate anagram for this! Anagramming "Prussia Denmark Romano" got me "Russian Pen Drama, Room K."_


	61. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.**

"Woohoo!" Prussia leaped into the air, spinning around, and almost fell over as he careened into Denmark. "Merry Christmas, guys! This is going to be so awesome!" He was wearing his beaded hat, and surprisingly, it looked pretty good on him, not too girly.

"This _is_ going to be awesome," Romano agreed, his cheeks a little pink…from the cold, dammit, not because he was holding England's hand and the sap was smiling at him like a lovesick girl!

"Come on," the host nation said. "We're starting out the week with a visit to Christiania." He smiled a very toothy smile at them all and waggled his eyebrows.

"Whoa! See, didn't I tell you guys it was going to be awesome?" Prussia asked unnecessarily. "Come on, let's go! Woohoo!" he repeated, hugging the Dane.

"Look, what the fuck are you so excited about, potato brain? What's Christiania?" Romano had done a lot of research for this trip, but hadn't seen that name anywhere.

They all climbed into Denmark's car, stowing luggage in the back. "Can I tell them, Den? Can I?"

Denmark ruffled Prussia's hair. "Tell them whatever you want. I have to focus on driving."

"You don't have to tell me, git. I know what it is." England had a big smirk on his face. He squeezed Romano's hand and got into the car.

"Dammit, does everybody in the world know about this except me? Tell me what the hell it is!" Romano settled in and punched the seat.

Prussia explained about Christiania, a special section of Copenhagen that was not bound by the laws of Denmark. How squatters had moved in and founded this autonomous commune in the 1970s, and it had continued to thrive despite a lot of right-wing pressure over the years.

"So? Why are you three all grinning like maniacs?" The half-nation was still pissed off; he hated not being in on the joke.

"They sell dope there. We can get high!" Prussia did a little dance in the front seat of the car.

"Wh-what?" Romano couldn't believe he'd heard right, but when he looked at England, the blond was still smirking. "You're joking."

"Nope. One of the few places left where you can indulge, that way."

"Huh. I haven't been high in a long time." Then Romano yelled, "Fuck!" and punched the seat again.

"What? Now what?"

"N-nothing. Just thinking about the last time I got high."

"Oh, yeah! You were with Spain, right? Kesesese! I remember that one time we all went to France's place and you took off – "

"Shut up, albino potato, _please_? Th-that part of my life is completely over and I don't want any stupid memories coming out." Romano stared out the window. Hell. He and England had just gotten things worked out and now stupid Prussia was going to fuck it all up by talking about the tomato bastard.

And then he felt England's arms around him and a kiss on his hair. "B-bastard?"

"Hey, it's not like I've never done anything stupid in my life, all right? Settle down."

"Yeah, settle down," Den added. "We're almost there."

"The best thing about this particular vacation," Prussia then pointed out, "is that we don't have jet lag! _Woohoo!_" he yelled again.

"Stop yelling in the car," the other three snapped at him.

"Kesesese!"

…

Denmark took them all on a little walking tour of the area, the unique homes and shops, explaining about the history of the area, before taking them down Pusher Street to get some marijuana. After making a little purchase (with Prussia "kesesese"-ing under his breath the whole time), they walked off together to partake, sitting together under a tree very similar to their regular oak tree.

"Why doesn't the government just close the place down?" Romano wondered, taking a hit and passing the joint to the albino potato. Ah, that was good stuff.

"It's part of the Danish culture! Something you probably can't find anywhere else in the world."

Prussia exhaled before laughing again. "Not somewhere I'd want to deal with every day, but once in a while, it's nice." He handed the joint off to England and stared into the sky.

England took a deep, deep drag and handed it to Denmark. "Thanks for having us over, Denmark. Can we do that pirate ship thing while we're here?"

"You and your stupid pirate ships," Romano laughed.

"Arthur was a badass pirate," Prussia reminisced faintly. "In fact, I think one of my warships is still at the bottom of the Kattegat. We should go scuba diving and look for it."*

"England sunk one of your warships?" This struck Romano as hilariously funny and he began giggling and leaning against Denmark.

"I sunk a lot of warships, git. Just ask the frog." The island nation had a dreamy expression on his face. "Or bloody Spain."

"Yeah, I had to listen to them bitch all the time about you, Ethel. Little did they know." Prussia leaned against England fondly and they sighed together, which made Romano and Denmark laugh.

"So, do you come here a lot, Den?" The joint came to Romano again and he didn't hesitate. "Seems like it would distract you from your work. But I bet the potato makes you bring him here a lot."

"Surprisingly, no. Prussia and I only came here once, when we first started dating."

"What? I can't believe it. A place with this kind of freedom to act crazy, and he's not dragging you here every time?" The half-nation poked Prussia, who grinned vaguely and poked him back, but didn't speak.

"Crazy," England said distantly.

"Hey, come on, let's get up and walk around," Romano then said, jumping up and tugging on Denmark's arm. "Come on! Let's not sit around here yakking all day! It's a beautiful day and we're at Denmark's place and it's Christmas vacation and we have a ton of stuff to do, you bastards, so get up and come on, let's _move!_" He jumped up and down, trying to convey his eagerness to the others.

Denmark shrugged. "I don't really mind but I can't drive for a while yet." He grinned at Romano, who pouted but kept jumping up and down just for the hell of it.

England and Prussia were still staring into the sky. "That cloud looks like a dragon," Prussia said, vaguely flapping his hand at the sky.

"No, more like a toaster."

"A _toaster_? Iggy, you're losing it!"

"Don't call me 'Iggy,'" England sighed, leaning back onto the ground, hands behind his head.

"Don't call him 'Iggy,' Romano laughed. He poked Prussia, who lifted his hand as if to poke, but then dropped it, as he was still dreamily contemplating the clouds. "What's the matter with you two?" Romano then demanded. "Come on! Time's a-wasting!" He did a little pirouette in front of them, which was so unlike him that the other three stopped their daydreaming and tried to focus.

Denmark burst into little giggles. "Sit down and wait, Romano. We have a whole week."

"But I wanna _do stuff!_"

This time all three of the others burst into giggles. "Sit down, wanker. Enjoy the day. Take another toke." England looked around vaguely for the joint but didn't see it. "Who's got the stuff?"

"We finished it," Denmark laughed. "Want another?"

"Yes, yes, yes!" Romano yelled, and Prussia yanked him down onto his lap.

"Stop yelling. Wow, I don't remember you being this lively any other time I ever saw you high. Too bad you can't be like this all the time. It would be awesome."

"Awesome, awesome, awesome," Denmark sang out, lighting up.

For a while there was silence; Romano continued sitting on Prussia's lap, and they shared the joint. He had to laugh at the goofy little smile on England's face; no one would ever suspect that loony-looking bastard had been such a fearsome pirate. The half-nation giggled a little.

After a few more minutes of silence England suddenly asked, "Why are you sitting on Gilbert's lap?"

Denmark started howling at that, and eventually leaned over so far that he was lying on the cold, hard ground.

Romano sniffed. "He's _comfortable_."

"Kesesese!"

But the brunet hopped up. "I want to climb the tree."

"Go for it." Den waved at the tree. "Be careful."

"I'm careful, you idiot." Though he made several attempts to get up to the lowest branch of the tree, he couldn't make it, so he turned and gave Denmark a pleading look. "Give me a boost, bastard?"

England and Prussia laughed together, quietly, as Denmark hoisted the half-nation up into the tree. "That okay?"

Romano gave him a thumbs-up. "Awesome," he grinned, climbing up a few branches. His friends all watched.

When he found a comfortable branch he sat on it, turning to look down at them. "You bastards all look really little."

Nobody answered that, but Prussia said, "Romano has such sparkly hair."

"He does, doesn't he?" England began to pet Prussia's hair. "Soft, too."

"Shut up about my hair, dammit," Romano giggled, and then he fell out of the tree. "Ow! Dammit!"

"Bet that hurt," Denmark said idly, but nobody got up to check on him.

"Bastards." But he got up and checked himself. "Nope. All okay." He spun in place again. "Come on, you dozy idiots, get up and let's walk around or something."

"Should we get up and walk around, Lucy?"

"Oh, Ethel. Sure. That okay with you, Denmark?"

"'S okay with me."

The three more mellow bastards got up lazily. Romano stalked off down the street and turned back only to find they were still standing together in a group; Prussia was trying to fix his hair, and England was trying to ride piggyback on Denmark. "Come on, slackers!"

"We're slackers," he heard Prussia say.

"And proud of it!" Denmark hoisted England up onto his back and they finally came along to join Romano.

"We should make Arthur an – uh – "

"A what, albino potato?"

"I forget what I was going to say," he admitted with a grin. "But it's all right. My awesome brain will eventually remember."

England reached down from his perch on Den's back and patted Prussia's shoulder. "It always does."

"It always does," everyone agreed solemnly.

"I'm hungry," Prussia told them.

"Me too. Let's get something to eat." Denmark headed down a street.

Romano hadn't realized how hungry he was until the albino potato had said that. "Food," he said, "food. Chips."

"Fish and chips!"

"Idiot. There won't be fish and chips here."

"Git."

They found a little shop and bought quite a selection of snack bags and sodas, which they took outside to munch on. For a while, the sound of crinkling wrappers and crunching chips was overpowering, though no one spoke.

"Chips," Prussia said, peering into an empty chip bag. "All gone."

"No chips." Denmark waggled his half-full chip bag at Prussia. "I have chips."

"You have chips?" Prussia put on a silly look, batting his eyelashes. "Share your chips with me, Den?"

"I'm going to hurl," England announced, throwing his chip bag down.

"What? Bastard, get a grip on yourself!"

But England was laughing. "I meant because Gilbert's acting like a bloody teenage girl. _Preteen_ girl. Oh, Denmark," he went on, in a freakish falsetto, "please spare some chips for me?"

"No." Den handed the bag to Prussia. "Here you go, Teutonic, uh, whatever. Eat all the chips you want."

"What? I don't want any chips." The albino pushed the bag away.

"Bastard."

"Are we done with these snacks? I can drive now," Denmark pointed out. "Maybe we should go back to my place so you can unpack and whatever."

Romano realized his high was fading, too. "Sure, bastard, whatever. You all right?" he asked England.

"Eh. Yeah." He picked up all the snack trash and threw it in a nearby bin. "Come on, Gilbert, shift that albino arse and let's get going."

"Okay. Wow, did we have an awesome day or what?" Prussia slowly reverted to his normal self, bouncing, grinning and monopolizing the conversation, as they headed back to Denmark's car.

Romano took a deep breath. Yeah, it was fun to get high with his friends, but being sober was better.

Almost as soon as he'd finished that thought, England scooped him up for a piggyback ride. "Bastard, are you still wasted or what?"

"Not much. Just happy." He craned his head back to look at the brunet. "Aren't you?"

Denmark and Prussia turned back to hear his answer. Romano smiled fondly at them all and replied, "Yes, bastard, I'm happy. Come on. Let's have an awesome Christmas vacation together."

"Kesesese!"

…

_The "warship in the Kattegat" thing was from Anagram Stories, chapter 115._

_Thanks again to Forever-Awesome94 for the help with Christiania._


	62. Danish Treats

_All the pastries are defined in the footnotes._

_..._

**Danish Treats.**

"So, I remembered what my awesome brain was trying to say yesterday when we were high." Prussia fiddled with the sugar bowl as Romano entered the kitchen. "About Arthur."

"Yeah? What about him, bastard?" Romano collapsed into a chair, groaning.

Denmark was at the coffee machine. "What's the matter with you? Just tired? I know we're all up a little too early for you." He grinned and brought the pot of coffee to the table.

"Nh, no. I ache all over from falling out of that stupid tree."

"Kesesese!" Prussia punched him.

"Ow, dammit. What's the matter with you, you moron? I just said I hurt all over!"

"Hey, we're the fighting fucking boozers, Romano. It's too early for boozing or – or – anything else. We might as well fight." Prussia's pale cheeks were red after this comment.

"Dammit." Romano's cheeks flamed too. He grabbed a cup of coffee and began to drink it desperately. "What the fuck were you going to say about England?"

"What? Oh. Oh, yeah. Where is he, anyway?"

"Pfft. Still snoozing, I bet," Den laughed.

"Yes. Lazy-ass bastard. I'll go give him a smack when breakfast is over."

Denmark pushed a plate of assorted pastries towards them. "Here. These are some of our best things."

"Huh. What are they?" Romano gave the plate the once-over.

The host nation itemized each item on the plate. "_Hindbærsnitter, Snegle, Kanelstang_."

"Man, I love your baked goods, Denny." Prussia grabbed one of each.

"Bastard, you're the fucking Albino Pig." More calmly, Romano took a _Kanelstang_ and sniffed it. "Cinnamon?"

"Yep!" Denmark took one of everything, too, and when Romano scowled at him he just laughed. "Ah, just eat, all right? There's plenty more, or if you want, we can go to a bakery today and get other things."

"Mm, mm, mm," Prussia agreed, licking his fingers clean, sounding like he was in the throes of lovemaking. "You have the best baked stuff ever. The most awesome, the most – "

"Yeah, shut up!" Romano punched him and Prussia laughed, reaching for his next pastry. "But – yeah, I don't mind visiting a bakery. I, uh, I always like to see what kinds of things other nations come up with." He sipped coffee and delicately nibbled on his _Kanelstang_. "Except the fucking Germans, of course," he clarified.

"You really know how to hurt me," Prussia moaned, but with a grin. He drank some coffee. "Now are you two going to shut up so I can talk about Arthur?"

"Talk, then." Denmark poured more coffee.

"I think we should make him an honorary Skirmish Brother, since he hangs out with us all the time."

"Sure, bastard."

"What? We can't do that!" Denmark gave them both funny looks.

"Why not?"

"W-w-well, for one thing, he – he doesn't drink coffee! He only drinks tea."

Prussia poked him. "That's not strictly a rule, you know. And anyway, he drinks coffee sometimes. He did get sauced that one night with the rest of us, remember? I mean, not as bad as _you_ did, but…"

Denmark looked a little discomfited. "He, uh, well, he also doesn't like to fight."

Both Romano and Prussia stopped eating and stared at him, Prussia with his mouth hanging open unattractively. "Hello? Hello? Where is the real Denmark, please?" He flicked Den in the forehead. "This is terrible, Romano. Aliens have captured Den and left us with this lifelike robot."

"No shit" was all Romano could say.

"What? What are you two staring at? You know he's always trying to be a peacekeeper around us."

"You're completely insane, Den. I bet we can get Arthur to start – to _start_, not just to participate in – at least three little fights, or one big one. Today."

"I agree," Romano hastily said, shaking Prussia's hand. "He fights all the time."

"Kesesese! You taking our bet, Den?"

"Hell, yes. You know he won't start a fight around us. To win this bet, _he_ has to start them. You can't goad him into it by starting a fight."

"Agreed." Everyone shook hands and began to eat breakfast, although Romano kept shaking his head sadly.

…

England was too cheerful after his lie-in. Romano stomped along beside him, grumpy, wearing his Skirmish Brothers hat. Luckily neither Den nor the albino potato had decided to wear theirs today. He would have felt like a fucking idiot in matching hats.

"So, where are we going today, gits?"

"Bakeries!" Prussia leaped into the air and did a little twirl.

"Bakeries? All day?" The island nation wrinkled his nose. "Not that I don't like your bakeries, Denmark, but – why are we spending the whole day at bakeries?"

"Dammit, we're not spending the whole fucking day in bakeries." Romano punched England in the arm and ignored Denmark's warning glare. He knew a simple punch would not be enough to get England fighting.

"Oh. Well, I don't really mind, but…it just seemed a little weird, that's all." He took Romano's hand.

"You need to get up earlier if you want any input on our daily activities." Prussia grinned at him.

"Bloody hell, Gilbert. It's bad enough that Romano came upstairs and brutalized me until I got out of bed! Shut it." But after this brief flare-up the blond settled his ruffled feathers and continued walking.

"Sorry I pummeled you, bastard."

"Eh. Whatever. Are we just going to eat at bakeries all day, or take tours or something? What exactly is the point of all the bakery rubbish?"

"Whatever you like, Ethel dear," Prussia replied, tickling him under the chin.

"Bollocks! Will you lay off me?" He let go of Romano and glared at the albino. "Just – just leave me alone!" But then he settled down again. "Git."

"There might be a problem," Prussia realized.

Denmark was laughing. "There's no problem at all, Teutonic Pig."

"Shut up, Den!" Prussia scowled and hit him.

Denmark kept laughing. "You know I'm right. Aren't I right, Romano?"

"Fuck."

…

"I don't like this pastry shite," England grumbled after a tour. "Give me a full English any day."

Romano looked at him strangely. "A full English what?" He turned a little red.

"Kesesese! A 'full English' means all the English breakfast stuff! Eggs, bacon, grilled tomato, fried bread –"

"Fried mushrooms, black pudding," Denmark interrupted.

"Bubble and squeak…_eggs…_" The island nation had a dreamy expression on his face. "_That's_ what I call breakfast. Not these girly little pastries."

"My _girly little pastries_ are a staple of the Danish diet! Not all those artery-clogging eggs and shit!"

Prussia and Romano both held their breath. This sounded promising.

But no. "Maybe so," England replied pleasantly. "Though all the sugar in the baked goods is just as bad for you. Ask America."

"We work it off," the host nation countered. "Not like you paunchy islanders."

"Paunchy! Why the bloody hell is everyone calling me paunchy these days?" England looked down and poked himself experimentally in the gut. "Romano, am I really paunchy? Doesn't seem like it."

Romano was torn. If he said yes, it might prompt his boyfriend to start a fight, so they could win the bet. On the other hand, he'd be lying outright. England wasn't paunchy at all. Quite the contrary. "Ahem. No. Not paunchy." He felt his face burning and rubbed a hand over it.

"Kesesese! You might _get_ paunchy, though, if you keep eating all that fried breakfast junk. Better watch it, Arthur."

Seeming reassured, England took Romano's hand once more. "All the same, I don't really feel like I've started the day right, without eggs in the meal somewhere. Danish pastries are nice, but they're not – not solid enough."

"Den's solid enough. Check this out!" Prussia poked him in the stomach. Nothing happened. "Ow," the albino said, massaging his finger.

"Yeah, well, bastard, we all know about Denmark's amazing solid abs. Shut up about it."

"Party pooper." Prussia did a handspring in the road.

"Come on. The next bakery's up ahead." Denmark pointed, and they made their way towards it.

…

The day did eventually turn out to be all about bakery tours, but nobody really had a problem with it. Except Romano, who was worrying about the bet. Several hours later, England was looking a little twitchy, but hadn't yet started a fight!

At the last bakery, most of the other tour patrons had already filtered out of the room, leaving the nations on one side of the serving counter, with the anxious chief baker and the tour guide, who was idly munching on a sandwich, behind it. The chief baker kept fiddling with his cooking implements, adjusting bowls of ingredients, and pacing, in a way that clearly said "Get out of here so I can get back to work." But Den wasn't paying attention, and the albino potato wouldn't bother anyway.

Romano sighed and leaned against the counter. "Why are you trying so hard to hold on to your temper?" he hissed to England. He didn't worry about Prussia or Denmark hearing him, because they were both busy sampling the goodies twenty feet away; periodically the albino potato let out a belch or a "kesesese" which may or may not have been muffled by a mouthful of pastry. Loud ceiling fans were running to keep fresh air circulating.

England lowered his voice, too. "I'm a guest at Denmark's home! Why should I throw some kind of a tantrum?"

Amazingly, despite all the ambient noise and Denmark's attention to the baked goods, he heard that. "Romano! Forget it! All bets are off," he laughed.

"_What?_" the island nation screeched. "You were making bets about me again? Bloody hell, Romano!" He picked up a pastry and smashed it into Romano's face. "I hate it when you wankers do this!"

"Dammit!" Romano groped for a loaf of _Franskbrød_ and began whacking him with it.

"Awesome! Bun fight!" Prussia grabbed some _Boller_ and started flinging them at the two combatants. The chief baker fainted behind the counter, and the tour guide dropped his sandwich on the floor and crouched down next to him – perhaps to revive him, or perhaps simply to escape the flying pastry.

England kept scooping up sticky pastries and rubbing them in Romano's face, or on his uniform, and occasionally flinging them in Prussia's general direction, where more often than not they stuck to him before flopping onto the pristine white floor. "Bloody gits!"

"Bastard, stop with the fucking pastry!" Romano yelled, just before Prussia beaned him with a loaf of _Rugbrød_. "And you, dammit! Stop!"

Denmark, standing well back from the fight, lazily ate a few _Kaj-kager_ while he watched, grinning. "I'm telling you, all bets are off!"

Romano stopped fighting and Prussia slipped on a _Kanelstang_, knocking the brunet down with a fresh _Hindbærsnit_. "Ow! Stupid bastard."

"Sorry, Romano." Prussia rolled off him and sat up. "Now we're all going to be bruised tomorrow."

"What the hell were you gits betting on?" England flung one last pastry at Prussia in disgust.

"Oh, stop, Arthur." The ex-nation stood up and tried to brush himself clean.

"Oh…" Romano moaned; getting hit by a flying albino was not helping his bruises. "Dammit." He lay back on the floor and used his Skirmish Brothers hat to wipe his face clean.

"Romano! Romano, don't use your awesome hat for that! It'll get stained, and you'll never get it clean again." Prussia nudged him with his foot. England did the same, though he was probably just pissed off at having his fancy knitting all fucked up with pastry goo.

"Bastards. All of you."

Denmark, having polished off the last of the little cakes, wandered over, dusting crumbs off his hands. "You guys are a mess," he laughed, staring at them with hands on hips.

"We're really sorry, Den." Prussia helped Romano off the floor and the three of them grinned at Denmark from behind their messy, sheepish faces. "Go!" the albino yelled, and they immediately began pelting him with the remains of the baked goods.

Aided by the tour guide, the chief baker stood up, took one look at the carnage, and flung a fresh tray full of _Napoleons hatte_ at them. _"__Get out of my kitchen!__"_

…

_At a suggestion from _cuzimafreak_ we have a bakery-themed chapter, and it's thanks to _Forever-Awesome94_ that I now know all these Danish baked goods to use in the chapter. _

_**Hindbærsnitter**__ = two layers of cake with raspberry jam between, then glazed and topped with sprinkles._

_**Kaj-kager**__ = Kaj-cakes. Kaj is a name. There's a Danish children's show with a frog (Kaj) and parrot (Andrea) and _Forever-Awesome94_ thinks that's where the name is from._

_**Boller**__ = Buns _

_**Kanelstang**__ = cinnamon bar_

_**Sandwichs**_

_**Franskbrød **__= white bread_

_**Rugbrød **__= rye bread_

_**Napoleons hatte**__ = Napoleon's hats. These are basic sugar cookies with a marzipan ball placed in the center, then shaped like Napoleon's hat._

_**Snegle **__= cinnamon snails_

_Food fights are always fun to write._


	63. Settling Down

**Settling Down.**

The four nations headed back towards Denmark's house, limping and grumbling; both Denmark and Romano were still trying to finger-comb pastry filling out of their hair. "What the hell were you wankers betting on, anyway?" the island nation snapped.

Prussia, also covered in pastry but apparently not giving a damn, put his arm around England's shoulders. "Arthur, my dear, Romano and I wanted to make you an awesome Skirmish Brother."

England stared blankly at him. Should he be offended because his old friend Denmark apparently didn't want this? Should he be affronted because they had made a bet about it? Or – "Wait. What did you actually bet on? I don't understand."

"Bastard, Den didn't think you liked to fight." Both Prussia and Romano smirked at that.

"What? Is this the real Denmark?" England asked, poking him in the back, causing laughter from his other two friends. "How could you even think that? After all the time you and I spent fighting each other? We've been fighting since the 8th century!" he scowled.

"Yeah, _then_ we were!" Denmark bellowed. "Not _now!" _He spun and grabbed England by the shoulders to shake him. "I'm talking about now, you idiot!"

"Get your hands off me!" England thundered back. Romano rushed to pull him away from their host; Prussia mirrored these actions, grabbing Denmark and pulling him away.

"Will you two settle down? Kesesese! This is Christmas vacation, peace and harmony between brothers, and all that." He patted the still-irate England on the head. "We know you awesomely love to fight."

"We know you fight awesomely," Romano added with a grin.

This did not seem to appease either of the combatants, so Prussia tried a different tack. "He got you mad, didn't he, Den?" When Denmark grudgingly nodded, the albino cackled, "That makes two fights! And that first one was a doozy, you have to admit. Arthur can definitely skirmish with the best of us."

"Whatever," Den said.

"Why are you so against this, anyway?" Romano wondered. "Do you dislike him that much? I warn you, Den, I'm not breaking up with him just to make you happy." He and England both snorted, and the blond put his arm around Romano.

Denmark didn't answer, but he did take Prussia's hand and appeared to settle down.

"If you're going to make me a bloody Skirmish Brother, I think Romano should become a Fail Brother."

"Yes!" Prussia jumped in the air and turned to face them. "Awesome! Den, wouldn't that be awesome? Romano's a failure as a brother too, right?"

"What the fuck are you talking about? _Chigi!_" The brunet punched Prussia in the arm, and then turned to scowl at his boyfriend. "What the fuck is a Fail Brother?"

England grinned. "We are," he said, gesturing towards Prussia and Den. "The three of us."

"What the hell for? I mean, obviously the albino potato is a failure as a brother. I don't even need to ask about _that_."

"Kesesese."

"What about you, though?" He poked England.

"Ever hear of a little git named America?"

"Oh. Don't remind me about that oblivious bastard. Well, but what about Den? You have brothers? That's news to me."

"Romano, you idiot. All the Nordics are Den's little brothers. Except they don't want to admit it." Prussia patted the spiky blond hair; Denmark was still grumpy, and scowled. "That's why he's a failure."

"H-how? I mean, how is that true, but also, how the hell did I never know about this?"

"Because you live with your head buried in the fucking _sand_?" Denmark snapped. "Until we got to know you, I never saw you pay attention to anything!"

"Shut up!" Romano tried to kick him and missed. "The fucking potato bastard was taking everything over! Anybody would want to hide from that kind of shit."

"Now I see where the term 'Skirmish' comes from," England mused, not meeting anyone's eye. This made Prussia laugh, and even Denmark finally cracked a smile. Romano, however, was still irritated, and kicked the island nation. "Ow. Git."

"So you bastards think I'm a failure of a brother?"

No one answered him; Prussia even began whistling a little abstract tune.

"Eh, forget it. Romano can stay a Skirmish Brother and I'll stay a Fail Brother and then Denmark will be happy. Right?" England walked up to the Dane and hugged him around the waist from behind, planting a loud theatrical kiss on the back of his neck. "Right?" He hugged tighter. Bloody hell, those abs _were_ solid!

"Sure," Denmark finally laughed. "Come on home. We need to talk about tomorrow." He pulled England around beside him, slinging his arm around the shorter blond's shoulder, and the two of them walked ahead of the others, giggling and whispering cozily all the way back.

"Couple of fucking idiots."

"Kesesese!"

…

Clean and lazy, the four of them sprawled on couches in Denmark's living room. "I love this couch," England sighed, and Romano burst out laughing.

"Yeah, this is a…_nice couch_," he agreed.

"Goes with the food fight theme, too," England pointed out.

"True, true. And you know, it was a cake theme today, too, bastard!"

"Why, Romano, I hadn't even realized that." England scooped up Romano's legs and turned him sideways, so they could snuggle closer. "You're so bloody observant."

Prussia and Denmark stared in confusion. "What? What?" the albino asked.

"Never mind, albino potato."

"From our kissing lessons," England added, pecking a little kiss on Romano's cheek.

"Chigi!" He swiped at it with the back of his hand. "Stop."

"I'm glad you two still like my couches," Denmark said, "but, uh, what the hell does that have to do with food fights?" He scratched his head.

"Er – er – nothing," England stammered. Romano rubbed a hand over his face and didn't speak.

For a minute, silence reigned, while Prussia and Denmark tried to stare their friends out of countenance, but it did not work. Romano and England remained strong.

"Well, whatever, bastards. What are we doing tomorrow?"

"Legoland!" Prussia yelled, hugging Den. "Awesome Legoland."

"Dammit," Romano sighed, but he was cuddled up to England and too cozy to get really pissed off. "I'm telling you, a little kids' park is going to be super boring!"

"Don't be rude to Denmark," the island nation cautioned. "You'll go, and you'll like it."

"I hate you."

"Hate you too, sweet thing." England kissed his cheek. "Hate you with all my heart."

Romano blushed, but did not wipe the kiss away.

"Kesesese! Okay, well, that's all settled, so what should we do for dinner tonight? Cake?"

Everyone else groaned. "I need some meat, Gilbert. Fish. _Something_ of substance. Den?"

"I agree with you, my pacifist island friend. We should go out to a nice Danish restaurant."

"Fine by me, bastards. If the albino potato can live without cake –"

"Believe me, Romano, cake was just a joke. I never want to see another pastry as long as I live."

"Well, then, let's get moving. We can talk more about my Legoland over dinner."

The four nations got up and went in search of a nice Danish restaurant.

…

_I know that Legoland is not really open over Christmas, but…nations don't really have food fights, either._

_That'd be a cool way to solve the world's problems, though. Get all the world leaders together for a big food fight._


	64. Legoland

**Legoland.**

"Good morning, everyone," Prussia said, skipping into the kitchen. "Got some awesome cakes for us, Den?"

If he thought to irritate Arthur or Romano with that statement, he failed. Each of them already had coffee and a half-eaten pastry before him. "Good morning, git," England yawned.

"You'd better wake up. Don't want to be snoozing around Legoland." Prussia drew up a chair and poured himself a cup of coffee.

"Have a cake," Romano suggested snarkily.

"Not me! Rye bread all the way, today. Toast me some rye bread, Den."

"Toast your own damn rye bread!" Denmark threw the uncut loaf at his head, but Prussia caught it.

"Wow, are you touchy! What's the matter with you?" He began slicing bread.

"Nothing. I didn't invite you idiots here so I could be a slave to your eating whims, you know."

"Technically you didn't even invite us here, bastard. It was the Teutonic Potato's idea."

"And it was Gilbert's idea to do bakery tours, too, right? Am I right?"

"You're right," Romano sighed.

"Anyway, I won't be snoozing around Legoland and neither will Romano. We both had a really good night's sleep."

"Kesesese!" Prussia put his bread in the toaster. "We didn't. Maybe that's why Den's so sour."

"Shut up!" the other three yelled.

"You three have the worst Christmas spirit of anybody I ever saw. I mean, I can understand it from Arthur, home of Ebenezer Scrooge, but what about you two?" While he waited for the toast to pop up, he grinned at his friends.

"No reason," Denmark said. "Maybe I just need more coffee." He poured himself another cup. "But that reminds me, does anyone need to do Christmas shopping? I want to decorate the house soon, but we only have a few shopping days left until the actual day."

"I'm done," England told him.

"I – I'm done," Romano stammered in turn. "I think."

"What do you mean, _you think?_" Den poked him. "Going to suddenly change your mind?"

"Well – well – well, maybe! Dammit! Just leave me alone."

"Yeah, all right."

The toast popped up and Prussia came back to the table and buttered it. "Mm. Best rye bread ever. It's even better than West's."

"Hah," Romano started, but Denmark elbowed him and interrupted.

"Thanks, Prussia. Now hurry it up."

"Kesesese!"

Everyone finished up breakfast and helped Denmark wash up. "Are we ready to go?"

Since the answer was a resounding "yes," they all grabbed coats and hats to leave for Legoland.

…

Romano remained grumpy right up until they entered the park. Even though it was cold out, he was happy that his fancy hat had gotten all messed up yesterday, because both his friends were wearing theirs. They looked like idiots and he didn't feel the need to be in a trio of idiots! Two of them were bad enough, especially with the damn beads all over the albino potato's hat. "Well? Where the hell do we start?"

"There's an Italian restaurant right here," Prussia pointed out.

"You are the world's biggest git. We just had breakfast!"

"Hey, hey! Stop that unawesome yelling, Arthur."

"Besides, bastards, who the hell knows what an Italian restaurant, in a Danish kids' park, would even be like? Probably not very Italian at all." Though Romano did plan to take a peek later. Just because the stupid potato bastards fucked up pasta didn't mean everyone else would.

"Let's go through Miniland," Den suggested.

Romano scowled. "What the fuck's that?"

"Didn't you do _any_ research? It's a little world built of Legos! Come on, we can see all our favorite nations in miniature, kesesese."

"There's no Prussia in Miniland, is there, Den?" Romano whispered.

"I heard that!"

"Come on, gits, move along." The friends entered the Miniland area.

Romano managed to tune out the ceaseless albino potato commentary as they walked. Despite himself, he was actually quite intrigued by the intricacy of the Miniland construction. Though he avoided the Germany section, he stopped periodically to trail his fingers over the tiny bricks that people had worked so hard to turn into replicas of cities and countries; listened to the happy comments of children and their parents as they wandered through the area. He had to admit that the builders had done a fantastic job. All those bricks built into such recognizable replicas! Every now and then he'd make a comment, only halfheartedly paying attention to the responses.

By the time they'd wandered all around Miniland he realized he hadn't heard much out of Prussia lately. Or, for that matter, anyone else. He glanced up from the Los Angeles exhibit and didn't even see them! What the hell? Had they abandoned him? Or maybe they were dawdling through the exhibit.

The half-nation turned to look and saw Denmark leaning against a lamppost, arms crossed, eyes closed. He walked over to him. "Hey, Den! Wake up!" This was strange.

Denmark opened his eyes and yawned. "Oh. You done?"

"Where the hell is everybody?"

"Come on. We're meeting them for lunch." He checked his watch.

"Lunch? _Lunch?_ We just had breakfast!"

"Yeah, about three hours ago! Romano, you were poking around Miniland for so long they got bored and went off to ride the pirate rides!" Denmark laughed and ruffled his hair, and the scowling brunet smoothed it back down. "I guess you really do like little kids' parks."

"Shut up. Where the fuck is the pirate place?"

"Yeah, come on." Denmark grabbed his arm. "Uh, better warn you, there's a fish and chips place here."

"Oh, _no._"

"Oh, yes!" Both of them rolled their eyes, but didn't discuss this topic further.

When they finally got to the pirate area, Prussia was sprawled on a bench, half asleep. "Hey, potato brain, where's England?"

"On the pirate ride," the albino yawned. "Again."

"What do you mean, _again?_"

"Kesesese! He's been on it four times already. I went on it the first two times but it wasn't worth doing more than that. Have a seat." He scooted over to make room for his friends on the bench. "Have fun in Miniland?"

Romano blushed. "Well – well, it was kind of interesting," he admitted.

"Aw."

The Italian was surprised that he didn't give him any more shit than that, though Prussia did put his arm around him. He sighed. Denmark sat on his other side and they watched people for a while. "What else are we going to do? After we eat." Romano then asked.

"Monorail? We can see the whole park and figure out what to do."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Gives us time to digest our lunch."

"Kesesese! You know Arthur's going to want fish and chips."

"I know, bastard, I know." Romano ran a hand through his hair. Was it getting colder? Now he almost – _almost_ wished he had his hat.

In a few minutes England came stumbling down the pathway, laughing and waving. "I love that bloody ride," he beamed. "Romano! You're finally done with Miniland? Thought you'd be there all day long."

"Bastard," Romano countered. "Thought you'd be on the fucking pirate ride all day."

"Well, I would, if we weren't going to lunch. Going to the Italian place, gits?"

All three of his friends stared in disbelief. England gently reached out and closed Prussia's gaping jaw. "What's the matter with you wankers?"

"Uh, uh, nothing," Romano said hastily. "Hurry up, bastards, let's get to the Italian place fast!"

"Right!" Denmark and Prussia leaped up and frog-marched England away from the fish and chips restaurant as fast as they could go.

…

"This Italian place is pretty good," Denmark said. "If I do have to say so myself."

But England and Prussia, both of whom were frequent eaters of home-cooked meals by either the now-disgusted Romano, or his equally talented brother, had to disagree. "It's bad, Den. This is typical amusement park food. Pricey and overcooked."

"Like that garbage we had in Japan." England poked Romano.

"Nh, this isn't _that_ bad. At least I can eat it." Romano followed every mouthful with a generous swig of sparkling water, though.

"I – I don't know what to say," Denmark stammered. "I really thought it was good!"

"Don't worry about it, bastard. Nobody's pasta is as good as mine. I'll make dinner for us one night," Romano promised. "Then you can see the difference."

"Taste the difference, kesesese. But yeah, I'd love a home-cooked meal made by you, Romano, dear."

"Shut up about it or I won't do it."

"All right. Hey, I was wondering about something else. Remember when we were in Estonia? We said we wanted to go back sometime."

"Uh. You're talking about next year's vacations already?" Den flicked Prussia in the head.

"Ow. Well, no. I was thinking we could go over there on Boxing Day, or whatever they call it. Cheer him up a bit. I heard from Canada that they were dating, but Canada broke up with him. So Estonia might be kind of lonely."

"That's a nice thought, albino potato, but…one day isn't going to do much. I thought we wanted to go spend a lot of time there to do really thorough sightseeing?"

Meanwhile, England, who had no idea what they were talking about, put his head down on the table, next to his bad pasta. Romano patted him on the head, but kept talking; the island nation kept his head down.

"You're right. Well, it was just a thought."

"Canada and Estonia would have made a pretty cute couple," Denmark considered. "Wonder why they broke up?"

"No idea," Prussia said. "But I did see Estonia with China at the pen meeting." He grinned. "That was an awesome meeting."

"Did you pay back all the pen buyers?" Romano wondered, kicking him.

"No way! They paid me fair and square for those cheap pens. I invested the money so I'd have some for this vacation."

"Good. Buy me a souvenir hat, bastard."

"What? What for? What about your awesome – oh, right, it's covered in icing, isn't it. Well, all right. You're my friend and I'll buy you a souvenir hat from Legoland to commemorate this beautiful day. We can go there when we leave the restaurant."

Romano poked the pasta around on his plate for a little while but just couldn't make himself eat it, so they decided to leave. England paid the bill and they went outside, only to find it pouring down rain.

"Damn."

"Oh, Den, don't sweat it. Let's go to the shop for Romano's hat and then we can go home. Okay? We can always come back some other day."

Denmark hugged him. "Thanks, Teutonic Knights. You're so amenable."

Romano rolled his eyes. "Don't start that again. Come on. Let's go to the shop." He took England's hand and led him inside.

While Prussia and Romano browsed the souvenir hats – and Prussia tried on every style they had – England studied the park map to see if there was anything else, besides the pirate ride, that he'd want to come back for. "Bloody hell, you gits!" he roared, frightening a lot of shop patrons. "There's a fish and chips restaurant here!"

"Whoops! Come on, Romano, quick; let's get out of here! Kesesese!"

…

_"Skirmish Brothers" is a little ahead of "Estonia's Love Life." Probably my next update will be Estonia's version of the pen meeting (China date)._

_I'm not doing very well with the "one-shot chapters having nothing to do with England" concept, am I?_


	65. Plans and Bets

**Plans and Bets.**

"Where's Arthur?"

"Sick in bed," Denmark told Prussia, handing him the loaf of rye bread again. "Romano thinks it was the pasta."

"I don't know; he might be faking it for sympathy since we didn't get to go to the fucking fish and chips place. But if he's faking it, he's really being thorough; the poor bastard's been groaning all night."

"Kesesese! I know how that is."

"Albino potato, will you _please_ shut up about that shit?"

"I meant because I eat bad stuff sometimes! Boy, Romano, your mind is always in the gutter."

"Bastard."

"Anyway," Denmark said, laughing, "want to go out shopping today? England said he didn't need to get anything, but I thought the three of us could get whatever last minute stuff we need, and enjoy the Strøget area. Looks like we'll have a nice day, no rain predicted."

"Sounds all right to me." Prussia pushed the loaf of bread around on the table. "Got any _Hindb__æ__rsnitter_? I love those things."

"Yesterday you said 'rye bread all the way'!" Romano scowled.

"Ah, I just feel like having something sweet."

"You need it." The half-nation reached for the knife and sliced some rye bread. "How is this stuff when it's toasted, anyway?"

Denmark made a face. "I bet it tastes awful. Like a rock, and hard to eat! It's meant for lunch or dinner, with savory foods. If people eat it for breakfast it would be with Nutella. But not toasted."

"Better Nutella than Marmite," Romano muttered. "Why would this taste awful, though? It's just bread." He put two slices in the toaster; might as well experiment.

"Den always complains when I toast it, but boy, with butter, warm and right out of the toaster, it's good!" Prussia got up to rummage around in a cabinet for the pastries.

"Well, I'll try it. I'll be the objective judge." Romano nodded just as the toast popped up. He brought it back to the table.

Prussia had returned to sit down with coffee and a pastry. He and Denmark watched carefully as Romano buttered the toast and then took a bite.

"Well?" the albino asked eagerly. "Good, isn't it?"

Romano swallowed before answering. "Seriously? It's a really good flavor. Nicely crunchy, not hard at all. Come on, Den. Here. Just have a bite of mine."

Denmark made the face again.

"Come on, Den!" Prussia poked him. "A big strong Viking like you can't handle a little toasted rye bread?"

"Hah. When you put it that way…" He opened his mouth and Romano held the toast out.

Denmark took a bite of toast.

Romano and Prussia both held their breath, although Romano was still crunching the last little bit of his previous toast bite.

"Wow!" Denmark said. "Surprising. I did not think it would be that edible. I may have some of that myself."

"See! Keep an open mind." Prussia patted his hair.

"Get your pastry hands out of my hair."

"Kesesese! All right. Well, hurry up with the toast so we can go shopping."

"Yes, sir."

"Albino bastard."

…

Prussia dragged Denmark off to the side for a minute. "Take Romano off somewhere, okay? I need to get something and I don't want him to see."

"Okay. Where should we meet you?" They looked around.

"Hmm. Outside City Hall? I only need about fifteen minutes."

"Sure," Den whispered. "We'll go on ahead. See you there." Something occurred to him. "Make sure the store doesn't give you a bag with their logo on it."

"Ooh! Good thinking, awesome one. Okay. See you in fifteen minutes."

"Wait!" Denmark fished for his wallet. "The Lego store is down that street," he pointed out. "Will you stop in there and buy a bunch of assorted bricks? Just plain ones, but in different colors. I want to build something for under the tree." He handed his friend some bills.

"Yeah! Cool. I'll get a bunch." Prussia scooted off down a side street and Denmark hurried back to Romano.

"What the fuck's that all about?"

"Just needs to take care of something. Ahem. Come on, let's go on ahead. There's nothing around here but restaurants."

"Oh, that reminds me. If we can stop at a grocery store I can get the ingredients for dinner tonight."

"Good idea. Let's wait until Teutonic Knights catches up, though, so he can carry stuff."

Romano snickered. "He can carry all of it."

They went into a clothing store, just to browse. "That Legoland hat looks really cute on you," Denmark now told him, patting him on said hat.

Instead of cursing and scowling, Romano posed attractively in his Legoland hat, winking and flashing him the victory sign. "Thanks, Den." He blew the Viking a kiss.

A few teenage girls behind a rack of clothing began tittering at them. Denmark raised an eyebrow and hugged Romano, and the girls squealed and ran away. "Pfft. Teen magnet, I'm telling you," Den laughed.

"Shut up about it." Ah, that was normal Romano.

"Are you all done with your shopping?"

"Yeah. Let's go meet up with the albino potato."

They went outside, where Prussia was waiting with a maniacal grin on his face and two big plain white bags, and they headed to the grocery store.

"Is there anywhere else in specific you'd like to see in my country?" Den asked, as they walked along with their packages.

"England wanted to go to that military museum," Romano remembered. "And – and I wouldn't really mind doing that pirate ship thing." He blushed and wouldn't meet the eyes of the other two, who looked at each other and grinned.

"Sounds okay to me. I'd like to go to the Tivoli someday," Prussia decided. "It's not such a _kids place_," he laughed, poking Romano as best he could with hands full of shopping bags.

"We should go to Skagen, too. It'll be cold, but it's a great place." Denmark took a bag from Prussia so he wouldn't be so laden down.

"Thanks. Hey, yeah. I bet Romano's never been there. We can go snorkeling!"

"Are you nuts? Your brain really has turned to potato mush. It's freezing, Idiotic Knights."

"Well, but in good wetsuits we could stay warm. What do you think, Den? Snorkeling off Grenen? Maybe at midnight! Kesesese!"

Romano rolled his eyes, but Denmark considered it. "Depends. If everybody wants to, then fine. If not…no. I'm not going to force anyone."

Both he and Prussia checked to see Romano's reaction. "England won't do it," he muttered.

"Arthur awesomely will do it! He's so adventurous. Want to have a bet? Loser has to…decorate the tree all by himself. While Den supervises."

"Uh, well, all right, bastard. I'll take that bet. If he wants to go snorkeling at midnight, in Den's fucking freezing water, then I'll decorate the tree. If not, you do it."

"Okay!" They shook hands. "Now let's get home before my arms fall off from carrying all these bags."

"Romano wants to get groceries to make dinner, though," Denmark reminded them.

"Oh. Right. Okay, let's go."

…

When they got back to Denmark's house, England was lying on his favorite couch, reading.

"Arthur!" Prussia tried to wave with his hands full of bags.

"Hey, gits. Have a good day?"

"Not bad," Romano conceded. "How are you feeling?" He let Den and Prussia take the groceries into the kitchen while he came to sit down.

"I'm better now. Whew. Guess I really have to start being careful about what I eat." He hugged the brunet.

Romano smoothed the hair off his forehead and, after checking the room to make sure they were alone, planted a little kiss there. "I'm making dinner tonight. You'll be a hundred percent safe."

"Mm. That sounds great." They got off the couch and headed into the kitchen.

"So, England," Denmark said, as they unpacked the food items. "You said you wanted to go to Aalborg one day. Is there anything else you'd like to do?"

England considered this. "Well, Tivoli's always good."

"Kesesese! I already said that. Plus we might go up to Skagen."

"Hey, yes!" The blond beamed. "I haven't been there in a long time. Too bad it's too cold to go swimming." He turned to Romano. "Two seas meet, so you can swim from one to the other. Multiculturalism at its best."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Get me a big knife, Den."

"Going to stab Arthur for talking about swimming during this cold season? Not awesome, my friend."

But England was still thinking about the Jutland peninsula. "I bet we could still do it, if we could get wetsuits somewhere. Ah, forget it. It's just smarter to come back during the warmer weather."

Romano smirked at Prussia, who sighed.

But Denmark couldn't leave the conversation there. "We could have a night picnic on the beach."

Both his friends gave him dirty looks – Romano thought he was trying to help Prussia win the bet, and Prussia thought he was trying to turn Arthur away from the idea of swimming.

"We could get drunk on the beach," England considered. "Or – you know what? We could get wetsuits and go swimming at night! That would be cool."

Romano scowled, and Prussia and Denmark both burst into laughter.

"No," England then decided. "That would be insane. Let's just go up in the daytime and have a picnic."

Grinning widely, Romano drew Prussia down and planted a little kiss on his forehead as well. "Have fun decorating, albino potato."

…

_Ellenthefox has started a new ask account on deviantArt, "asktheskirmishbros," so if you have any questions for them, or any suggestions for future chapters, feel free to post them there. I check that every day now. Of course you can also PM me here or on my dA profile, blooddarksun._

_I am also considering closing out the whole story once I finish this Christmas arc. I haven't decided yet._


	66. Christmas Eve

**Christmas Eve.**

"Hang that one higher," Romano directed. He lay on the sofa watching Prussia decorate the Christmas tree, while Den and England sat on the floor building things with Legos atop the big coffee table.

"Denmark's supposed to be supervising, not you," Prussia countered, but he did hang the ornament higher.

"Hey, I don't mind. I'm just happy to be celebrating with all my friends." Denmark reached up and ruffled Romano's hair.

"Dammit," the brunet grumbled, but with a lot less venom than usual, fixing his hair.

"Thanks for taking us to the military museum," England offered vaguely, pulling Legos from a bin.

Romano had been surprisingly intrigued by the place. He wondered how much of that was due to his relationship with England, who was so martial. Or maybe he was just becoming more military! Heh. "What the fuck are you two building, anyway?" he now asked.

"For Gilbert! I'm making Sans Souci!" England gestured towards his big yellow Lego building.

"Kesesese! But that doesn't really look like it."

"Ingrate. Next time I'll make Big Ben." England sniffed and drank some more coffee.

Romano leaned over and poked Denmark. "What about you? What is that?" Denmark was busy with some kind of design built on a Lego mat.

"Just wait until I'm done. You'll see." But then he started laughing, without looking up, and Romano began to get suspicious.

"Whatever. Hey, albino potato, the tree is lopsided!"

Everyone looked at the tree. "Looks perfectly straight to me," England said.

"Yeah, Teutonic Knights and I spent a lot of time making sure it wasn't leaning."

"Oh," Romano realized. "No. I didn't mean the tree was leaning, I meant there are too many decorations on the side near the windows, and not enough on the side near the stairs."

The two blonds considered the tree.

"Yep," they agreed. "Move some of them, Prussia," Denmark then directed.

"I'm really not happy about all this bossing around."

"You lost the bet, stupid." Romano laughed.

But England looked up from his Lego model. "Er – did I miss something? What bet?"

"Nothing," the Skirmish Brothers said hastily. Prussia busied himself with reorienting the ornaments. The island nation went back to his building, and Romano breathed a tiny sigh of relief.

Eventually, after Den had made two more pots of coffee and England had finished adding another wing to Sans Souci, Romano deemed himself pleased with the albino's decorating skills. "You can quit now."

"Kesesese!"

"Come and build something," Denmark told him.

Prussia wedged in next to him at the coffee table. "What _are_ you building? You've been working on it for a long time."

Denmark sat back and gestured. "Ta-da! It's a mini-Miniland!"

Everyone craned to look. "That's pretty impressive, bastard. Looks just like it. Hey, you even put little minifigs in there!"

Den began laughing. "Yep. These are from my collection. I put one for each of us! See? This one is a pirate, and here's a Viking, and an artist, and a – ahem – "

"What? What'd you pick for the awesome me?"

"Mad scientist," Denmark admitted, laughing with his friends. "Well, sorry! It was the only one with hair like yours. It was either that or the clown."

"Hey, I don't mind. Mad scientists are cool. Cooler than clowns, anyway."

England picked up the pirate minifigure and began walking it around Miniland. "Ahoy, mates. Give me all your Christmas presents! Ha ha ha!"

"No, no!" "Not our awesome presents, Captain Arthur!" "Dammit, you idiot – "

But Prussia picked up the scientist figure. "I'll blast you to smithereens with my magic potion!"

"Stop!" Denmark bellowed, pushing the Viking toy in between the scientist and the pirate. "See this cultural artifact? You see it? I'll chop your plastic legs off! Now get out of Miniland, scurvy bastard!"

"The hell I will!" The two nations began battling each other, tiny plastic axe versus tiny plastic cutlass, and soon Denmark dealt England's minifig a mighty blow to the head. "Ow…oh, those bloody Vikings will be the death of me…" The toy pirate keeled over, and the plastic cutlass clattered to the Lego street.

"Ha ha! Vanquished another plastic foe!" Denmark beamed and received pats on the head from Prussia and Romano.

"Don't expect me to do any fighting, idiots." But Romano's voice was amused.

"You need to apply mouth-to-mouth to the injured pirate, kesesese…"

"Ah, shut up, mad albino scientist. Are we opening presents tonight?"

"Of course! That's the way we do it in my country." Denmark ruffled his hair again.

"Dammit, stop with the hair. Okay. Well, at least the tree looks good now, potato brain. Thanks for doing it."

"Anytime, sweetie-pie."

"Shut up. I have to go upstairs and get my gifts." Then the brunet turned to Denmark, agitated. "Uh – uh – we – how – ?"

"Don't panic. Teutonic Knights, you need to go upstairs."

"What? Why? What are you talking about?"

"Shut it, git, and do what your killer Viking boyfriend is telling you to do."

"All right. I don't like it, but I'll do it. No opening presents without me!"

"You know we wouldn't do that. Go hide in the master bedroom and don't come out until Romano says it's all right." Den pecked a little kiss on Prussia's head.

"Why do I have to do it, bastard?" Seriously, why did Romano always get picked for this shit? Dammit.

But England was laughing at him. "Just to goad you. If you didn't get so pissy about it, he wouldn't pick you to do it. Go get your presents."

"What about you? Didn't you bring any?"

"Yes, yes, all right, I stowed them in a secret hiding place. I'll get them."

Everyone split up to fetch presents. "Remember, albino potato! Don't leave the room until I come get you!"

"Got it, Romano! I totally get it! Stop yelling."

…

"Wow. That's a lot of presents." Prussia stood smirking at the wrapped heap of gifts under the tree.

"Yep. And I bet they're all _awesome~,_" Romano teased.

The coffee table was now draped in a festive tablecloth; a coffee set on a tray sat atop it. Denmark had brought out a plate with more baked goodies, and England poured a generous dollop of rum into each coffee cup before they sat. A fire was roaring, and the Christmas tree was lit up beautifully. Denmark sighed happily. "This is beautiful already, even without presents. I'm so happy you're all here. Come and sit on the couch, T.K."

"Teacake?" The albino scratched his head. "Like 'Cupcake'?"

"_T. K.!_ For Teutonic Knights. It's just a lot shorter, easier to say. I thought of it while we were setting up the – uh – well, whatever," Denmark laughed, blushing and turning away; Romano poked him with a grin.

"Sit down, wankers. Who's going to be the elf this year?" England sat next to Prussia; Romano next to Den.

"I think you should, bastard, since you called us wankers."

"Agreed," Prussia and Denmark said. England made a little scowl but then shrugged.

Everyone drank coffee while the island nation searched among the presents to bring something to everyone. "Here you go, one for Romano and one for Denmark." He handed them the gifts and sat with something in his lap. "And one for me."

"Hey! Hey, what about me?" Prussia put him in a headlock.

"Ow! Get off!"

"Get off him, bastard. You have to wait until last."

"What? Why?" He let go of England and sat back on the couch. "That's kind of mean."

"We have a reason. Just sit back and be happy. It's Christmas Eve!" England hugged him. "Though now I think it makes more sense for _you_ to hand out presents. Since you won't have any to open."

"Forget it! I had to do the entire awesome tree single-handedly!"

"All right, all right. Shut up, both of you morons. Open your presents."

Denmark had been busy unwrapping his present already, and inside found a knitted item, which he drew out carefully. "A Skirmish Brothers scarf? Thanks, England." But he looked at it a bit doubtfully. Romano bit his lip.

"I didn't make that. Gilbert? Have you taken up knitting?"

"It – it's from me, bastard," Romano said, hiding his fiercely-blushing face. "I – I got Estonia to help me learn how to knit, and I made it for you. I-it's kind of basic, but –"

"Whoa! But that's awesome. Thank you. Look at this thing, you two, it's like ten feet long!" Denmark wrapped the very long scarf around – and around and around – his neck, and hugged the brunet. "I'm going to be the toastiest, happiest nation in the world. Thank you." He hugged him again and kissed his blushing cheek. Romano didn't look up, but he did at least start smiling. He was glad his friend was happy with it. It had been a real bitch to knit, and he would never give England shit about that girly activity ever again.

The island nation, who had halfheartedly continued unwrapping his own present, kept his wondering eyes on his boyfriend until the paper was all undone. "What's this?" He lifted a knitted hat from the paper.

"Chigi! It's a hat, you moron." Of course, there were plenty of other things Romano could still give him shit about. Hah.

"I can see it's a hat, git. I mean, did you knit this for me?" He examined it all over with a growing smile.

"Yes, you stupid idiot. S-since you knitted us all those other ones."

"But it's adorable!" It matched the ones he'd knit for them, although it didn't have any beads. England put it on his head right away. Romano hoped he wouldn't notice the few dropped stitches and the crooked decreases. Hats were even harder than scarves. "How do I look?" the blond asked.

"Aw…Arthur, you are the cutest little thing." Prussia gave him a great big smacky kiss on the cheek. "I wonder if he knitted something for me?" he then mused airily.

Instead of responding, England thanked Romano nicely for the gift, keeping the hat on his head, and then gestured to the flat package on the brunet's lap.

Romano opened it. "What is it?" he asked, flipping through paperwork.

"Tickets to an Alaska cruise next summer," England said smugly. "Just the two of us." Romano blushed and ducked his head again.

Denmark said, "Aw," almost automatically, but he was watching Prussia, who had a funny smile on his face.

"Th-thanks, England." The newly-hatted island nation blew Romano a kiss, so he punched the sofa.

"Enough of all this romantic shit," Prussia decided. "You guys need to hurry up so that I can get my awesome presents! Go get more presents, Arthur."

"Yes, Gilbert."

…

"Legos? Wow." Romano nudged Denmark with an elbow. "I – I – I wouldn't ordinarily have asked for, or considered, Legos, but now after this vacation they'll always remind me of you. Th-thanks." He blushed.

"You're welcome. I know you'll have fun with them."

"Uh. Yeah. We can p-play with them wh-when you guys come over next time?" Dammit, he felt like a fucking idiot. _Legos!_ But – but Den was his friend, and –

"Kesesese! We can try to make a Leaning Tower of Legos!"

"Cheh." Maybe Romano _felt_ like an idiot, but Prussia _was_ one.

England opened a box to find the complete set of "I Love Lucy" DVDs. "Gilbert, you're too much. Thanks. We'll have to watch them when you come over. We can have a marathon!"

"Fine by me!"

But then England spent a little time looking at the box. "Where did you get these?" he asked suspiciously.

"America sent them over, since I couldn't find them around here."

"You _wanker_. These are Region 1! They won't work in my DVD player!" He set the box down and punched his albino friend, who punched him back; soon the two nations were growling and wrestling all over the floor, accompanied by the laughter of their friends. "Git!"

"Shut up, you overbearing island freak!" Prussia managed to pin him face-down on the floor, sitting on his back. "Don't be so uptight," he said, folding his arms.

"Get off me." Surprisingly, his new hat hadn't fallen off yet.

"Apologize."

"For what? Because you bought me American DVDs? Pfft."

Prussia got off him, leaning down to hug him. "Aw. Merry Christmas, Ethel."

England patted his cheek. "Merry Christmas, Lucy." They got up and sat on the couch again.

"Well, that was a fun show," Denmark laughed.

"Open your awesome present."

So Denmark opened his awesome present. "Now what?"

"Kesesese! Tickets to an Alaska cruise!"

Denmark began beaming but Romano gave England a nasty look, before noticing the island nation was just as shocked as he was. "What dates, bastard?" Dammit.

"Did you two plan this? You _are_ awesome," Denmark laughed, getting up to hug both Prussia and England.

England backed off in a hurry. "I had nothing to do with it! What dates?"

Yes. Their tickets were for the same week, on the same ship. "What are the chances?" Prussia grinned. "We're going to have so much fun! Just – no breaking up, you two. We don't want another depressing cruise."

"Shut up about that!" Romano yelled. "I already told you a million times that I was sorry about it!" England, too, looked a little embarrassed.

"Yeah, shut up about it, T.K. They won't break up." Den, back at his couch, put an arm around the agitated Romano's shoulders.

"Hah. Maybe we should break up with you two," England suggested.

"You wouldn't."

"Might_._"

"Wouldn't."

"All right, shut up, shut up, shut up!" Romano's voice bounced off the walls. "Will you two quit fighting? It's Christmas Eve! Peace and harmony shit!"

"We're not actually fighting," England pointed out, hugging Prussia again.

"_Peace and harmony shit,"_ Prussia quoted, under his breath. "Nice."

Denmark got off the couch. "Still, I think you two need to be separated," he laughed. "Prussia, you go sit with Romano."

"Awesome!" He bounced over and plopped down into the space just vacated by Den. "Hello, my friend."

When he hugged Romano the brunet scowled, but didn't push him away. "Get some more presents, stupid," he told his adoring boyfriend.

England came back with a present for Denmark, one for Romano, and one for himself. "This is it, and then Gilbert can – can have his."

"Hurry, hurry," Prussia said. "It's insane that you're making me wait. Insane!"

"What the _hell_ is _this?_" Romano yelled, fanning out some bizarre papers printed with pictures of beer and pretzels.

"Kesesese! These are activity tickets."

"Okay, what the fuck are activity tickets?"

"They're like little coupons that you can cash in with me to get cool stuff. Do stuff."

Romano narrowed his eyes. This sounded bad. "Like what?"

"Like tours of Berlin, or free beers, stuff like that. Bouncy houses, or high-quality liquor, or play Modern Warfare with me! Awesome stuff!"

Romano tried not to groan, and instead forced himself to hug the albino potato, very briefly. "Thanks…I think."

"Aw," everyone said, and the half-nation jumped up and stomped out of the room.

"Romano, come back!" Denmark yelled. "Come back!"

He reluctantly came back. "Stop all that shit."

"We'll stop," everyone agreed.

He pushed Denmark off the couch and sat next to England. "Okay. Now everybody can hug who they want to hug, all right?" Romano scowled. Of course everyone started hugging, and he just rolled his eyes. "Are you bastards going to open these presents or what?"

Denmark held a tiny wrapped package. When he opened it, some coins spilled out. "Old coins? Coins of Canute! England, how? Did you raid the British Museum?"

The island nation smiled fondly at his old nemesis. "Private collectors are amenable to selling, with the right incentive." He buffed his nails on his shirt; Prussia got up to throw more wood on the fire.

"Well? Anybody going to explain who the hell Canute was?" Romano felt surly, as usual, because he didn't know what they were talking about.

"King of Denmark and England," Prussia told him, returning to his seat.

"At the same time? Wait, how do _you_ know that?"

"You think I'm some kind of moron? Kesesese! I know a lot about Europe. Especially because Den and Arthur are my good friends. You need to do more research, Romano. You're completely out of it."

"Hey, England doesn't love him for his mind, you know." Den and Prussia sniggered like adolescents.

"Shut up," the other two said wearily. "Anyway," England went on, "Canute was king from 1016-1035 in England."

"And 1018-1035 in Denmark." Den turned the coins over in his hands. "These are really good specimens, too. Thanks."

"No problem. Merry Christmas."

"Well? Open the damn gift, bastard." Romano pointed to the long, flat package on England's lap.

Unwrapping it, the blond found a 3/5-scale replica of Denmark's axe. "Denmark! This is awesome. Thanks!" He took it out and swished it around in the air, laughing.

Romano was doubtful and leaned out of the way hurriedly. "You're giving him a weapon, idiot?"

"Why not? Anyway, it's special." Denmark smiled at England as he aimed the axe at Prussia.

This got Romano intrigued. "Go on, bastard, throw it at him!"

"Kesesese! But it's just a toy, Romano. It's a Nerf axe."

"You're joking." Romano rolled his eyes. "Great. Now you and Swissy can have Nerf competitions." He took it from England and swished it around a little. He couldn't reach Prussia to whack him, though.

"How? What am I supposed to do, hit him in the head while he's trying to aim his gun? Wanker."

"Okay, enough, enough of all this," Prussia said. "I want my presents!"

"What makes you think you're getting more than one, albino potato?"

"You mean I'm not?" Prussia put on the most astonishing pout any of them had ever seen, and they all burst out laughing.

"Well, just stand up, all right?" Den patted his white hair.

"What? What for? You're not going to make me perform for it, are you?"

"Just shut it." England pushed him to the side of the coffee table and took the tray of coffee things into the kitchen; Den followed with the pastry tray.

When they came back Prussia was glaring at Romano, who was glaring right back. Denmark stepped forward and put his hands on the albino's shoulders to break this stare. "Hey. Take this tablecloth off the table."

"What? Why don't you do it? You're standing right there."

"Just do it, albino potato," Romano sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if all this is worth it."

Prussia pulled the tablecloth off. "Hey. When did you get this coffee table, Den? Your old one didn't have a glass top. What happened to – "

As he caught a glimpse of the items nestled on the blue velvet lining, under the glass top, Prussia's grin changed to a wild look. "This is for _me?_ A scarf for me, too!" He scanned his friends' laughing faces to make sure. "This is _awesome,_" he breathed, reverentially. Under the beautiful dark wooden table's glass top lay his entire collection of souvenir spoons, arranged in neat rows, and a Skirmish Brothers scarf. "The – the table is actually for me?" His eyes were sparkling.

"Yes, dearest," Den said, kissing his forehead. "We checked with Germany to make sure there's a place to put it in your house."

"I love all you guys, I don't care what anybody says," Prussia nodded. "All of you. Even Romano." Keeping his eyes on the table, he tried to reach out and hug the brunet.

"Bastard." Romano moved out of reach and then decided to put more logs on the fire.

"How – how do I open it? I want to wear my awesome scarf, and I need to know how to put more spoons in there."

Denmark showed him how to raise the hinged glass lid. "See? Wasn't it worth waiting for?"

"Kesesese! Yes! Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas, everybody." They all hugged each other and Prussia put the scarf on before sitting in front of his table.

"Now…who's up for some awesome strip poker?"

_"Chigiiii!"_

…

_When I learned to knit, the first scarf I ever made was ten feet long and full of dropped stitches, too. I'm wearing it now, for the ambience. Kesesese._


	67. Happy New Year

_There will be two New Years' parties in this universe this year. This one is the Skirmish Brothers, England and others, at Romania's house; the other will be Estonia and others at Greece's place (in "Estonia's Love Life"). It seemed too confusing (for me and for you) to intertwine both stories into one gigantic party chapter. Enjoy!_

…

**Happy New Year.**

Darkness had fallen already, this New Year's Eve, and three of the four friends seemed uneasy as they headed up the thickly-shaded drive towards Romania's remote mansion. Its peaks and gables were silhouetted against the full moon; the detritus of last autumn's leaves crunched under military boots as they warily approached. The wind whistled through the trees, and every now and then there was a flapping sound, as of birds…or bats. All the windows save one were dark. It didn't help that one of Denmark's boots was squeaky, either. Even he was unnerved by all this!

"Wh-why-why is it so d-damn dark here?" Romano stammered. "There's a f-fucking full moon! Why isn't it brighter, dammit?" His hand encircled England's upper arm, gripping very tightly, and he was almost tiptoeing.

Denmark raised his eyes to the moon "I d-don't know. Everything seems much more – more –"

"_Gloomy?_" England moaned. "Maybe we should have gone to Greece's party instead." He looked around. "I don't see anyone else headed up here, either. What if we're the only ones who show up?" He pried Romano's grip loose and took his hand instead. "Are we even sure he's home? All the bloody windows are dark!"

But Prussia, skipping along, yelled "Kesesese! If nobody else shows up it'd still be fun. We can get drunk and snoop around his place." He jumped into the air in his exuberance. "You're telling me all three of you are scared? Hah. It's a _party._ Nothing scary!"

"I'm a _little_ scared." Denmark confessed this while still shuffling hesitantly forward through the crackly dead leaves.

England agreed with a nervous laugh. "I'm a lot scared."

"I – I – I'm not s-s-scared at all, b-b-bastards."

Everyone laughed; Romano let go of England to punch his arm. "Ow. Git."

"Come on!" Prussia ran up the wide stone stairs of the ancient mansion, where a lone candle was burning weakly in a window. "I do have to admit this looks pretty gloomy. It's great! Woo_ooo_ooo," he moaned like a ghost, waving his arms above his head. "Wonder how he managed to get such perfect weather, though? A full moon!"

"Hey. Anybody want to place a bet?" England suddenly asked, with a sparkle in his eye.

Romano looked suspicious. "What? _You_ want to make a bet?" They headed up the stairs together, Denmark following.

"Sure. Let's bet on who else is coming. Bet bloody America won't be here. Couldn't nerve himself up for it."

"Not taking that bet, because you're absolutely right." Denmark ruffled England's hair. "I bet Bulgaria's here. They're really good friends."

"Oh, forget all the damn bets. Ring the doorbell, albino potato. I'm nervous standing out here in the dark. Something might sn-sneak up on us."

Prussia hunted for the doorbell and rang it with another little cackle.

When their host flung the door open with a dramatic whoop, Denmark, England and Romano all jumped a little, but Prussia just hollered, "Happy new year, Romania!" and pushed past him into the noisy, candlelit house.

"Don't mind him. He's just excited," Den said, shaking the grinning Romania's hand.

The host was dressed in a nice black suit with a lime green top hat. Huh, that pointy tooth was creepy, too. He had a tall, dark drink in his other hand, and his face was flushed. "Welcome to all of you. Please come in! The entire house is open tonight, you may go where you wish, and have fun looking 'round. All I ask is that you stay out of the locked room at the end of the second floor. Here, you can leave your coats here." A servant was hovering anxiously nearby; he took their coats and strode off, presumably towards a coat room.

Everyone shook hands with Romania and came further inside. "Why are all the windows dark?" Romano demanded, before they got too far.

"I used blackout curtains! Aren't they cool?" The host gestured to the windows. "Makes it look creepier outside."

Huh. "Whatever, bastard." He grabbed England's hand again.

"There are buffet tables scattered throughout the house; drinks are at the bar." Romania gestured to a large portable bar that had been set up in the spacious, yet bone-chilling, ballroom, where some nervous-looking caterers were standing huddled together, pouring drinks for the visiting nations and trying to act brave.

"Thanks," England said absently. They scanned the room for Prussia and found him already with a beer in hand, talking to Latvia and Sealand, who hugged each other tightly and seemed even more terrified than Romano. No wonder. Cobwebs drifted down from the ceiling, and weird organ music was playing very quietly in the background.

Romania drifted away from them. "Can't believe he invited that little git," the blond snarled.

"Ah, forget Sealand. Come have a drink." Denmark grabbed both his friends by the arms and dragged them to the bar.

Romano placed drink orders for himself and England. Den watched him act manly and calm while talking to the nervous young bartender. She mixed the drinks with a shaking hand, accidentally dropping England's olive into Romano's Bloody Mary. "I like olives; it's not a problem," he told her, and she smiled weakly before getting another olive for the island nation's martini.

Denmark ordered a beer, to start. He wanted to get a feel for this party, which was already kind of weird, before starting to drink a lot.

When they each had a drink they leaned against the cold stone wall to survey the crowds and the room. "Ha ha," Den pointed out, "should have made that bet!" America was across the room trying to talk to Belarus, but she was not looking happy.

"Oh well." England was shaken, but not stirred. "Who else is here?"

But Romano seemed more concerned with the architecture and décor. "Why the hell does this bastard still have bare stone walls? He couldn't even put up some fucking tapestries to hold in the heat?" He scowled, slapping the wall, and then pressed closer to England.

Denmark took a moment to observe the room, too. It was damn cold in here, despite all the people and candles. High-ceilinged, it was built of big and regular black stones, with a matching stone floor having assorted small rugs here and there in bright red and black. He couldn't even see the ceiling, when he looked up. Wine-red velvet curtains flanked the blacked-out windows, and all the aged carved furniture had a very twisted and grotesque appearance. "Do you think it always looks like this, or maybe he did it like this to give it a spooky new year's theme?"

"How stupid." Romano was still looking pretty pissed off. "He's got the wrong holiday."

"Who the hell knows what he's thinking? I barely know the wanker."

Den looked over towards the doorway that led to the rest of the house. "Hey, there are Ice and Liechtenstein. She's got to be freezing; that dress is really pretty, but it's not suited to this temperature." In a short, fitted dark dress, Liechtenstein did look festive and happy, but she was visibly shivering. Iceland had his arm around her. When he saw the three friends watching (Prussia was still talking to the micronations), he waved and brought her over.

"Hello, everyone," he said. Liechtenstein smiled but didn't speak.

"You should get your coat," Denmark said to her, by way of greeting.

"I know. We were just on our way to the coat room," Iceland grinned. "This is a very interesting house, but much too cold, even for me!"

Denmark shook his hand. "We were just trying to decide whether it's always like this, or just done up for the party."

"You think the bastard put the fucking air conditioning on for New Year's?" Romano snapped. "That's brutal."

"Hey, I don't know!"

"Want me to go get your coat?" England asked Liechtenstein.

"I'll go," Iceland said. "You stay here." He smiled at her and ran off to find their coats; Liechtenstein moved closer to England to stay warm, and he put his arm around her protectively.

"Should get the albino potato over here; all that hot air would warm things up right away."

"Kesesese! Did somebody say they wanted me over here? Oh, Romano, I adore you, I really do." He put the brunet in a headlock and then kissed him. "Seriously, what are you grumbling about? This place is great! We need to go look around. I want to see what else he's done to the place."

"You've been here before?" Liechtenstein asked politely.

"Yeah, oh, it was a long while ago, back when he was part of Austria. Place hasn't changed much," he said absently. "No vital regions to speak of."

Iceland returned with the coats. "Here," he said, holding Liechtenstein's out, and she snuggled into it gratefully. It was a nice sheepskin coat with a thick lining.

"Probably if we keep moving around we'll stay warmer," Den pointed out. "Or maybe find a fireplace?"

"Oh, good idea!" Iceland nodded. "There's got to be a fireplace around somewhere. Come on," he said, offering his date his arm.

All of them moved out of the room. America, still talking to Belarus, waved at them as they passed, but the girl ignored them.

"I guess that means Russia's around, huh?" Prussia asked.

"Probably hiding from her!" Denmark had a higher vantage point than the others, so he continually scanned rooms they passed, trying to find a fireplace.

"Swissy coming tonight?" Prussia asked Liechtenstein.

"Ah, no. Hungary wanted to go to Greece's party, because of all the cats, so she dragged _Bruder_ and Austria with her." She smiled. "I bet it's nice and warm there."

"My stupid brother and the potato bastard went there, too."

"So did our brothers!" Iceland chimed in.

"_Our_ brothers?" Romano asked him. "Whose brothers?"

"Norway and Sweden and Finland! They're my brothers and Denmark's too."

"Aw, yeah. I'm the big brother of all of Scandinavia. Bow down to Denmark the King!"

Nobody responded to this, except England, who started laughing hysterically, and Prussia, who punched him in the arm. Denmark stuck his nose in the air and ignored all that.

"Well, there's a fireplace," Romano pointed out, "but fuck! It's not even lit."

They all peered into the smallish parlor next to them. "Keep moving," Den sighed, patting him on the shoulder. "But good spotting."

Eventually the group located a fireplace with a roaring fire, in another very large (and much more modern) room where Bulgaria sat alone on a black leather couch nursing a mug of something and ignoring everyone. The newcomers greeted him; he waved a gloved hand weakly in response, but didn't talk. However, everyone was much too excited about the fire. They gathered around it, chivalrously allowing Liechtenstein to take the prime spot, although Romano tried to nudge a little closer, too.

"Good God," England whined. "This is overdoing it."

"This is _under_doing it!" Prussia tried to laugh, but by now his teeth were chattering. "I like the spooky theme, but not the cold. Maybe he never had central heating installed? I ought to get West to talk to him. My _Bruder_ is an expert on heating systems."

"Your '_Bruder' _is an expert idiot."

"Right, Romano," Den snorted. "You're telling me that if Germany suddenly showed up and offered to install central heating, you'd turn him down?" He laughed and gave the half-nation a hug.

"Shut up. But keep hugging me, bastard, I'll get warm faster."

Iceland got a little smirk on his face and put his arms around Liechtenstein, who blushed, but didn't push him away.

Eventually everyone felt somewhat warmer; turning to scan this room they discovered Bulgaria had disappeared but America was here. "Hey, dudes! Uh," he then said, backing away from England and Romano.

"Kesesese, you're too funny, America. Just because Arthur beat you up!"

Both Romano and Denmark started laughing, and America punched Prussia in the arm, still avoiding England. "Shut up, man. Isn't this party awesome? I love the decorations. Very well done, even though they are more like Halloween decorations."

Everyone stared at America.

"What? What are you all staring at?"

"Y-you're not scared, bastard? This ghostly place?"

"This isn't ghostly! It's just old-fashioned and cool. There aren't many homes done in this style, at my place."

"Okay," Denmark said flatly, "okay. Where's the real America, please?"

"Ha ha ha!" The hero elbowed him. "You're the funny one, Denmark."

By now the coat-wearing Iceland and Liechtenstein appeared warmer; the Nordic nation led her to the couch, where they snuggled up together. "Too fucking cute," Romano whispered to England, who smiled back.

"Just like us."

"You stupid sap."

"Shut it, you miserable wanker. I want another drink."

"Yeah, I'm warm enough. Let's go. Hey," he said to the others, "you bastards want another drink?"

"Bring me a Danish Mary."

"Ooh," Prussia said. "Yeah. Bring me one too. I love those things."

England, meanwhile, had crossed to the couple on the couch to see if they wanted anything. "Right, come on," he motioned to Romano. The two of them hustled back to the bar, not wanting to be away from the fireplace too long.

"You know, I wanted to check this place out with you, when we first got here, but…this is nuts. I'm going to spend the whole fucking night in front of the damn fireplace!"

"We could go upstairs and get warm later," England suggested, not meeting his eyes.

Romano blushed. "Yeah – well – well – whatever, bastard!" In his confusion he kicked his boyfriend just as they approached the bar. "Shut up about that shit!"

They placed the drink orders and turned to observe the room again. Belarus was now hanging on Russia, who waved to them with his habitual smile; Latvia and Sealand were no longer in sight. Poland and Lithuania swayed in the corner to the sound of the spooky organ music. Not really dancing, just – _swaying_. "It always surprises me how willing Lithuania is to do stupid dancing."

"Romano, you tosser. I wish you'd dance with me once in a while." England took the tray of drinks and they walked back towards the fireplace room.

"You're telling me you'd do that dumbass dancing like those two were doing?" He wrinkled his nose.

"Ah. Well, probably not like that. But you know what I mean."

When they entered the room, nations swarmed around, grabbing drinks from the tray; Romano took the drinks for the lovebirds to the couch. By the time he came back, England was sipping another martini, and the tray was empty. "Where the hell's my drink?"

"Eh? I don't know." They scanned the room and discovered that America had taken Romano's drink.

"_Chig-_" he began, but England shoved the martini into his hand.

"Drink this. Don't make a scene."

"You always spoil my fun, bastard." But he drank the drink while they observed everyone.

Romania danced back into the room, a big hairy spider on his arm, and even America jumped away from that. "Seriously, dude, you are taking this way too far."

"Hah! This is a toy, a prop." The host picked the giant spider off his sleeve and held it out; only Prussia dared to take it. He poked it a few times and laughed, placing it on his white hair.

"How do I look, Den?" He batted his eyelashes and simpered.

"Exactly like some goof with a toy spider on his head." Denmark took it off and handed it back to Romania, who laughed. "Come on, Romania. I don't like to be ungrateful, but we're all so cold that nobody's going to have a chance to enjoy the party! We'll be huddled around the fire all night."

"Cold? It's cold in here? I hadn't even noticed." He tripped over to the thermostat. "Huh. Only twelve degrees! There must be something wrong with the thermostat."

"There's nothing wrong with the thermostat!" everyone yelled. "It's damn cold," Denmark finished.

"Okay. Well, there, I just bumped it up to twenty-four. That should do it. Sorry. Go have some fun! We're bobbing for apples in the back yard."

America grabbed him by the collar, snarling. "Romania, do you have some kind of fucked-up calendar? Everything I've seen tonight screams Halloween, but it's New Year's!" He seemed very angry.

The host shrugged and bared his fang in a sneer; the hero let go quickly. "Of course not. But Halloween is my best thing, you know? Why not stick with a winner?" He saw Bulgaria beckoning him from the other doorway. "Hey, gotta go, but things ought to be warming up now. Have fun, everyone!" Romania hurried away.

…

Two hours later the party was in full swing; it was now so warm that those nations with jackets had stripped them off and were wandering, talking, or dancing in their shirtsleeves. The four friends had left Iceland and Liechtenstein canoodling in the fireplace room and toured the house a little. Other than the few rooms they'd seen early on, this place was quite modern and up-to-date, so they supposed he kept that big ballroom gloomy on purpose, either for occasions like this, or nostalgia. The creepy music was being played all throughout the house, though. Denmark had confessed that it made him itch between the shoulder blades, as if someone was about to knife him there.

America, apparently at a loose end, had stuck with the group all night. They'd eventually gone back to that big main ballroom with the bar. Poland and Russia had already gotten into a fist fight and been separated; the host was frantically consoling the pouty Pole while Belarus and Ukraine had dragged their angry, beloved brother off somewhere out of sight.

"I bet I could take you, in wrestling," Prussia now said to Denmark, setting his empty beer bottle on the mantel.

"Are you out of your mind, Teutonic Knights? I can take you with one hand tied behind my back!" Den yelled at him.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah!"

The two nations squared off right in the middle of the room; everyone else cleared a space, amused, and Prussia threw Den down and pinned him in the blink of an eye, sitting on his back and laughing like mad. "Try again, my formerly-awesome friend?"

"Hell, yes!" Denmark was fighting mad; he hopped up angrily and they began again, with the same outcome.

"Fuck, I don't want to stand around watching these dumb bastards wrestle. Let's get out of here."

England agreed. "Get me another martini. I'm going back to the fireplace room. Those couches looked nice."

"Mm, yes, they did. Okay. I'll be right along."

Denmark and Prussia prepared for another throw, but Romano was already moving to the bar. He'd had a lot to drink tonight, but he was still a little crabby, so he knew he wasn't drunk. As he took their drinks from the bartender he heard another cheer and a "kesesese" from the other side of the room and hurried off. He would not want to be around if the albino potato kept pinning Denmark. It might even be risky to head back to Den's place for the last night of their vacation. Maybe he and England should just head back to Rome. It was marginally closer, anyway.

When he reached the fireplace room, England was cozied up to Liechtenstein on the couch, and Iceland was not around. "Bastard?"

England and Liechtenstein glanced up, laughing over a shared joke, and Romano felt his blood begin to boil. Dammit, the bastard couldn't keep his hands off anyone? "Yes?" the island nation asked cheekily, holding his hand out for the drink.

Romano chugged the martini instead of handing it over, and then tried to chug his Bloody Mary. "Dammit, England, why the hell are you flirting with her? You've been all over her tonight!"

Liechtenstein's hand flew to her mouth but England just laughed a little. "Don't be a jealous git. Sit down." He patted the couch.

"Forget it!" He set the glasses down. "Listen, you –"

But England jumped up and started shouting at him. "Why are you always so touchy about this, wanker? Don't you believe I'm –?"

"Shut up about it, stupid," Romano hissed, shoving him away. Behind them, Liechtenstein curled her feet up on the couch and watched with fearful eyes.

"Bloody hell!" England roared. "If you – if you –"

"Shut up, you stupid bastard." Romano shoved him against the wall. But he saw the glimmer of metal under England's open shirt collar, which completely distracted him. He pressed closer to the blond, grabbing him and kissing him fiercely. "Mm, dammit," he murmured, feeling the warmth of England's response. "L-let's go upstairs?"

The island nation nodded feverishly, yanking him along by the hand. "Sorry, Liechtenstein!" they yelled, now laughing, as they ran out of the room together.

Upstairs they found an empty dark bedroom and ran inside, slamming the door and collapsing on the bed. Neither spoke as mouths and tongues met, hands groped for belt buckles and shirt buttons. Romano moaned a little in anticipation.

Then a deep loud "Mu ha ha ha!" erupted from the other side of the bed.

Romano screamed and jumped. The island nation, gasping, caught him before he fell off the bed; they held each other, panting and nervous, waiting to see what would happen next.

Then a whispered "kesesese" came from the other side of the room. "You fucking albino potato," Romano growled, flopping back on the bed. "Dammit." He put a hand over his heart to try to slow the pounding.

"_Romano_? Is that you?"

"Who the fuck do you think it is, you interfering bastard! Of course it's me!"

"Who are you here with?"

"Gilbert, you're a tosser. Complete. If I ever get my hands on you –"

"Well, this sucks," Prussia said in the darkness.

A fourth voice said, "I know."

"America?" the two nations on the bed yelled.

"Well, yeah, dudes! Prussia and I were going to play an awesome prank on whichever couple came up to this room first. But if I'd known it was going to be you two –"

"Where the hell is Denmark?" Romano's night vision had now adjusted and he could see both of the intruders.

"Uh – ah – I really don't know," Prussia tried to offer, and then the door burst open again with a loud "Ah ha ha ha!"

"Hi, Den," everyone said wearily. "The prank was a fail," Prussia added.

"What? What?" Denmark hit the light switch. "What the hell's going on?"

"I don't even care. I thought you bastards were wrestling or some shit?"

"We were! I was really mad at T.K. for beating me every time, though, so we stopped and got some more drinks. This seemed like a fun idea." Den came over and sat on the bed. "Guess not?"

"Not," England and Romano said forcefully; Romano realized his pants were hanging open and hurriedly took care of that, buckling his belt afterwards, hiding his burning face from everyone else.

"This party is too weird, man."

"Kesesese! This party is awesome."

"Well, shit, it's soon midnight, bastards, so we might as well go back down."

"Yes, all right." Together the group slouched back down the stairs. Romano flipped Prussia the bird, but since he was at the back of the line, only England saw, and chuckled a little.

In the main room Romania stood on a makeshift dais, waving his dark drink and laughing. No one paid attention to him. "Wonder what he's been drinking all night?" Prussia mused. "Blood?"

"Wish it was your blood."

Both Denmark and England began laughing at Romano's muttered remark. "What?" the albino asked, shaking Romano by the arm. "What did you say? What?"

"Stop it, bastard!" He jerked his arm away. "Hands off."

"Kesesese! Only the awesome Arthur gets to put his hands on you!"

Nobody replied to that, either. "Let's get some drinks. A lot of drinks." England pushed his way to the bar. The bartenders were a little more cheerful, probably because it wasn't so cold anymore, so he took advantage of them to order two drinks for everyone. "I need two, after that bloody awful interruption upstairs."

"You have to admit it would have been a good one-two punch, if it hadn't been you and Romano in the bed, dude."

"Shut it, wanker. Drink."

Within minutes the bartenders were mixing up yet another round. "I love drinking," Romano said with a smile. "I love all you bastards."

Prussia and Denmark hugged him. "Stand back, everyone! Romano's drunk!"

"I – I am not!" he said, with that silly grin, and Prussia kissed his forehead. And then Denmark did, and then America tried to, and England punched him.

"Ow. I hate you, Iggy."

"I know. Piss off."

America took the hint and left, heading for Russia.

"You know, there really aren't that many people here," Denmark realized. "Only what, about ten nations?"

Prussia counted them. "Eleven, plus us, if you don't count Romania. Since he'd be here anyway."

"Guess all the other gits wanted to go to Greece for the warm weather."

"Losers." Romano hiccupped. "Come on. Let's explore this place."

Everyone stared at him. "What?" he yelled. "What now?"

"It's almost midnight. I thought you wanted to come down here to celebrate midnight?"

"Cheh, of course I did. I – I was just kidding about – uh – whatever I was talking about."

England cuddled him in his arms and Romano snuggled close with a little goofy smile, and Denmark and Prussia burst into laughter. The island nation looked like he was fighting it, too.

Romania finally threw his glass against the wall, smashing it, which caught everyone's attention. "Soon midnight!" he yelled. "Grab your partner for a great big new year's kiss!"

Well, England was still holding Romano, and Prussia immediately grabbed Denmark, and they turned to see what was happening in the rest of the room. Liechtenstein and Ice were discreetly parked in a corner, and Latvia and Sealand were giving each other funny embarrassed looks, but Russia was having a really hard time of it. Ukraine, Belarus, and now America were all fighting over him. For a moment it seemed as though Russia might actually cave in to his psycho little sister, and then he smiled, grabbed America by the hand and towed him out of the room. Ukraine stood sadly staring after them, but Belarus – at first paralyzed with shock – began chasing them and screaming.

"Hope he gets away! Kesesese!"

"Poor Ukraine, though." Romano pouted. "Nobody left to kiss."

"Eh, it's all right, sweet thing. Bulgaria's a gentleman. He'll give her a kiss." The gloved nation had indeed stepped closer to the buxom blonde, and she wiped her tears away to offer him a wobbly little smile.

The only others were Poland and Lithuania, dancing again in the corner. Romania ignored them and started counting down in a loud voice. _"__Cinci, patru, trei, doi, unu! Un an nou fericit!"_ He smashed another glass against the wall, shocking everyone, and then they all began kissing and hugging and spreading New Year's cheer.

Romania jumped off his little stool and made the rounds of the party, kissing each guest. "Thank you for inviting us," England politely told him; he received a second kiss for that.

"Damn, he's really drunk," Den finally realized, once the host had kissed and passed them.

"Nah. He's like that all the time. He likes necks. Kesesese!"

"Mm. I like necks, too, T.K. Come here and let me – " Denmark stopped speaking and pulled Prussia close, kissing his neck with annoying little slurping sounds.

"Awesome, Den. You'd make an awesome vampire." Prussia ruffled his hair.

"Let's all be vampires next Halloween," Romano suggested with a wicked smile. "I'll host a party at my place."

"Deal! Deal! Hey! You guys all heard that, right?" Prussia turned to bellow to the assembled nations. "Next Halloween, Romano's place! _Awesome!_"

"Shut up, you loud potato. Give me a New Year's kiss."

"Wish we had that video recorder," Denmark laughed. "I've got to start carrying one around with me."

"Whatever," Romano laughed, kissing Prussia, who beamed.

"Hey, Romano! Are you giving out kisses?" America loomed up behind him.

"Not to you, loverboy. Sorry." But he reached up and patted the hero on the head.

"Belarus catch up with you?" England snickered nastily.

"Yes. What a night. I need to find someone to date," America sighed, glancing at the group.

"Don't look at us!" the Skirmish Brothers yelled, grabbing their coats and running out the front door.

…

_Romania always seems like he'd be a great ringmaster for Circus Gothika, so I went a bit overboard with him. His countdown was "Five, four, three, two, one! Happy new year!"_

_The thermostat was in Celsius. In Fahrenheit it would have been 53 and 75, roughly._

_I want to thank everyone who's read and enjoyed this story over the last 15 months. I'm closing the story for now, but may return to it at some point. In the meantime, the boys will appear occasionally in "Estonia's Love Life," and I might do more "Love in the Modern World" at some point, too. And of course if you like AUs they are appearing in "Exit Strategy" (currently in progress) and "Love and Art/Life Sketches/Love and Art Book II," though those were not specifically designed as Skirmish Brothers AUs._

_Happy New Year!_


	68. Things to Do at Midnight

_I knew I'd think of something to add, sooner or later. Thanks to Ellenthefox for helping me work through some of this._

_..._

**Things to Do at Midnight.**

Denmark awoke, groggy, from a dream of drums, or gunfire, in his well-lit room. Boy, he hated war dreams. Hated them more than anything he could remember. He lay in the bed, stretching and feeling the pleasure of the cotton sheets against his skin, and decided to get up for a drink of water. He was surprised that he'd fallen asleep so early. It wasn't even eleven yet; the book he'd been reading had fallen out of his hands, onto the bed.

As he padded to the bathroom, the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire startled him again! Who the hell was shooting at him?

The sound had come from the window. He crept over to peer over the sill.

Oh.

Prussia and Romano were standing under the window in the moonlight, picking up gravel to fling at his window; Gilbird circled the albino's head. "What the hell are you doing?" he hissed, after opening the window.

"Kesesese! Hey! How are you? We thought we'd come see you. We've been bored."

"Why are you throwing rocks at the window? Why didn't you just ring the damn bell?"

"Pfft. Strategy boy thought this would be more fucking amusing." Romano halfheartedly flung his handful of pebbles at the albino.

"Ow. Stop that. Anyway, Den, come on out, let's go do something."

"It's the middle of the night! And I was asleep!"

"Ooh." The way the crimson eyes widened in glee was visible even in the dim moonlight. "Naked, huh? Come down and open the door!"

"You stupid idiot. Just – just put some clothes on, Den, and let us in! It's ridiculous standing here. I feel like I'm chatting with Rapunzel or something, dammit."

"Yeah, all right. I'm too awake now to sleep. Give me a minute." He shut the window and threw on some sweatpants before going downstairs to open the door. He loved his friends, but, damn, sometimes they had bizarre ideas.

"Wah, am I glad you're home," Prussia said, bursting inside and giving him a cursory peck on the cheek.

Romano just nodded as he came in and took his jacket off.

"Why are you here, anyway? You guys were out doing shit without me?" Denmark felt a bit put out. He flopped onto the sofa and Prussia joined him; Romano took the opposite couch.

"Ah, Veneziano dragged me up to Berlin today. They're having some stupid romantic dinner."

"Yeah, man, it was terrible. All that kissing and stuff? All I could think about was you, Denny…"

"Argh! Dammit, that's not why I came up here. If you can't stop that, albino potato, I'm leaving."

But Denmark was curious about something else. "Why aren't you with England tonight?"

"Cheh, he had a stupid meeting or something with Swissy. The bastard was supposed to call me when they were done, but he didn't call." Romano pouted.

"Someday you need to get back at him for this sort of thing," Prussia mused. "Some kind of prank, I'm thinking."

"We could do that tonight," Denmark said, rather vaguely. "Since we're all awake and London isn't that far away."

"Right." Romano kicked the coffee table. "Don't you think he'd know we were there to prank him? If we just randomly showed up in the middle of the night? Anybody would be suspicious of us three turning up at this hour." But he appeared to be thinking it over. Gilbird flew over and landed on his lap, cheeping softly; he reached out a hand to pet the little bird on top of its head.

Prussia beamed at this sight before returning to the discussion. "We could totally do it. We're awesome strategists, and we can all be subtle when we put our minds to it."

Before he had finished speaking both his friends had started laughing, and even Gilbird flew around in merriment. "You? Subtle. Right. Bastard." Romano stopped speaking to catch his breath.

"I can be subtle if I have to." Prussia sniffed, sounding just like Austria. Gilbird landed on his head and settled in.

"Come on. Let's make a bet. Let's bet that we can successfully prank England tonight, before dawn, and be subtle about it." Denmark was now glad they'd shown up! This would be fun. "I just need to get some real clothes on."

"What the hell can we do to prank him at this hour? Sneak in and give him a manicure?" Romano snorted. "Paint his fucking fingernails to look like our stupid Brothers flag."

Prussia nodded. "Paint Gilbird on them!"

Den snorted at them. "Are you nuts? That's so unsubtle I can't even believe you mentioned it. How the hell could we do that? The nail polish smell would wake him up."

"I know, I know. How about something with food? We could swap out his fucking scones for rubber ones, or something."

"Too hard to find fake scones in the middle of the night. But…what about tea? We could swap out his tea for something else." Denmark thought about this. "What's like tea, but not?"

Romano laughed. "Tobacco, bastard. Swap his stupid tea for tobacco and convince him to drink it."

"Romano!" Prussia leaped off the couch. "That – is – awesome! Yes! We could totally do that, Den. We could sit there and drink this tobacco tea with him and pretend it's just regular tea, and he'd suck it down. Even if he thought there was something weird about it, if we were all _subtle_" – he grinned at his friends and waggled his eyebrows – "we could make him think he was coming down with a cold, or something that made it taste funny to him. Come on. Let's go pick up some tobacco and do it."

"I'm game. The only thing that worries me now is, uh, his magic." Denmark scratched his nose. "What if he tries some magic crap on us, if he gets angry?"

Romano seemed entirely too serene as he answered with a smirk. "I'm not afraid of the bastard's magic. He won't touch me," he stated, reaching a hand to his throat. "You two, though…" He let the sentence dangle. "Maybe we shouldn't."

"Nah. My good buddy Arthur wouldn't use magic on me, and so he wouldn't use it on Den. Right? Right."

"If you say so, idiot. It's your funeral." Romano frowned. "What actually happens to your body if you drink brewed tobacco leaves? If we have to sit there and drink this shit with him – "

"Good point. Let me look it up." Denmark hurried to his computer, which was always on, and looked it up. "Hmm. Well, that's weird. It's used as an insecticide."

"What? Did you say insecticide? Cool. Then we won't get worms."

"Ugh, you disgusting moron. Shut up."

"Also," Den announced cheerfully, "it will make you puke."

"Dammit!"

"Well, only if you go swigging it. If we're careful, just sipping it – and maybe brewing it weaker than he likes – we'll be awesomely all right."

"Chigi! _We_ may be all right, but England gulps that shit down like candy! I don't want him hurling all over the place! Imagine what we'll smell like when we get out of there. Plus he'd probably make me stay and help him clean up."

Prussia visibly deflated. "Uh. Yeah. Okay, well, what else could we try?"

"What else is there that brews up like tea, but isn't?"

They sat deep in thought. "What about yerba mate? It's a South American drink, like tea."

"I know what it is, you dumbass potato. I'm surprised that you do."

"Romano, you're always so willing to hurt my feelings. I know a lot of stuff! West doesn't give me much to do, you know, and you guys are always busy, so I read about a lot of things. I bet I'm the most knowledgeable nation in the world."

"Ex-nation," Romano mumbled.

"Fine, well, whatever. Just drop it. Do you think that would work, Den?"

He thought. "We could do that. There's an international market here where we could get some. But that seems like a really lame prank. We should put something in it. Habanero sauce?"

"Yeah, yeah!" Prussia jumped up again. "Totally. I mean, you and I are completely the kings of hot sauce, Den. We could easily drink along with that and fool him. But what about Romano?"

"Don't worry about me, bastard. I can't drink tea, or any shit that's tea-like, at his place. I'll have to drink coffee." He smirked.

"What? No! You have to play along."

"Stupid." Romano kicked the coffee table. "I hate tea, and he knows it. If I suddenly start asking for tea or mate he's going to know something's up. I can help with the prank, but not that way. I can goad him into drinking more, or whatever."

Den agreed. "Well? If we're going to do this, we need to get moving."

"So, we'll buy some fucking yerba mate and habanero sauce, go to England's, and you two will drink it with him all night, without letting him realize it? What happens if we win?"

"If we do it successfully, I'll treat you two to another awesome Nürburgring day."

Both the others stared at him. "You're kidding! You can do that? I thought Germany had to arrange it?" Denmark asked him, just to be sure.

"Ah, you know I can manipulate West. If I give him some money he'll be happy to get rid of us. Let's do it."

"C-can England go with us, then? I th-think he'd really like to race." Romano blushed and Prussia hugged him.

"Of course he can awesomely race with us. I mean, after all, if we win our bet it's mostly due to him anyway. So, go get dressed, Den, and we'll get this done."

…

Out in the street, the three friends crept stealthily towards England's front door, Gilbird silently nesting in Denmark's hair. "It's only midnight! Why are we sneaking around like this?" Romano wondered. There was still quite a bit of traffic around.

"Strategy! Put us in the proper mood!" Prussia gave him a theatrical wink and a thumbs-up. "Come on."

They tiptoed up the steps to the townhouse's front door, holding their breath, and a loud ringtone split the night and scared the hell out of them all; Gilbird flew twenty feet straight up into the air. "Jesus!" Denmark hissed, stumbling. "Whose phone?"

Romano panted, bracing himself against the banister, the other hand pressing down on his heart. "Mine, bastard. Hold on." He took the phone out of his pocket and answered it breathlessly. "Yeah?...Yeah…You're kidding. Just now? Is he still there?...Oh, good." The three friends looked at each other in a panic. Good thing Swissy wasn't still here! Romano continued speaking. "So you're still awake?...Oh, shut up, bastard, you know what I mean." He paused for a few moments and then gestured to Prussia to ring the doorbell. "Just out and about, shooting the shit with Den and the albino potato."

Prussia rang the doorbell and they all heard a yelp from Romano's phone. "Kesesese," Prussia whispered. Gilbird came back down and sat on his shoulder.

"Yes, you idiot, it is. Come let us in. We were bored so we came to see you."

England flung open the front door and all three of the friends jumped back in shock. He had his magic cloak on, the hood shadowing his face, which was eerily lit from below by the glow of the phone screen. "What's with you gits? Get in here."

"You're wearing your cloak! What for? Not going to cast any curses on us?" Prussia pushed the hood back.

"Oh. Sorry. Did I scare you?" England pinched Romano's cheek with a grin and the Italian smacked his hand away.

"Stop that, bastard; you're as bad as stupid Spain."

The expression on England's face was remarkable, and Romano laughed and gave him a quick little hug. The island nation stuck his phone in his pocket again and closed the door behind Denmark. "So what are you doing tonight? Just loafing around?"

Everyone walked into the parlor. "Yeah. Spent some time at Den's, got bored." Prussia patted the couch next to him. "Come sit, Ethel, dear. I missed you."

England rolled his eyes. "Do you want anything to drink? Beer, tea? Romano, do you want coffee?"

"Sure, bastard. I'll help you make the shit. What do you two slackers want?"

"We brought some yerba mate," Denmark announced, holding out the grocery store bag. "Prussia and I have never tried it, so we thought we could all try it together."

England peered at Romano. "Not you? Not brave enough to try it?"

"Cheh. Too much like fucking tea. I want coffee." He grabbed the bag from Den and stomped off towards the kitchen.

"Right. We'll be right out, wankers." England followed him.

"Oh, sit down, Arthur. I'll go help Romano. All we've been doing all day is loafing around, and you've been busy with your Swissy thing, right? Just relax with Den, take the cloak off. We'll be right out. Romano knows where everything is, right?"

"Right. Thanks, Gilbert." He blew the albino a kiss and threw his cloak on the chair by the fireplace.

As they watched Prussia saunter away, Denmark turned back to the host. "So, what about Swissy? Did you make him happy?"

England snorted. "Nothing ever makes that git happy. But at least we worked out a plan. If it doesn't work – " He left the sentence dangling and shrugged.

"Why _were_ you wearing your magical gear? Casting a spell on him?" Den started howling with laughter at the indignant expression on the island nation's face.

When he finally stopped guffawing, England snapped, "Yes."

But before the Dane could ask about this, the other two returned with a tea tray holding four cups and a teapot. "Drinks, bastards."

Prussia set the tray on the table and Romano handed the cups around.

"What made you decide to try mate?" England wondered. "I've heard of it, but never had it." He sipped it, and the three friends desperately pretended not to be paying attention to him. "Hm. Not quite what I imagined. More like spicy tea! But it's not bad. Thank you." He sipped again, having apparently forgotten about his question.

Denmark and Prussia hurriedly tested their habanero-laced mate. "Oh, this is good stuff," Prussia stated. "Very different, for me."

Den couldn't really tell if he was faking it or not. Guess he _could_ be subtle! Heh. "It's not bad," he said. Though it was kind of intense. England must be really tired, not noticing that. "Romano, you should try some."

"Maybe later, bastard. So what are we doing tonight?"

"What have you got?" Prussia asked. "Monopoly?"

"Argh, no!" Denmark cuffed Prussia on the side of the head, nearly spilling his drink. "Not that again."

"Sauced on mate," Romano muttered with a grin.

"Listen, gits, I'm really glad to see you all," and England flashed Romano a little smile, "but mentally I don't think I'm up to any such shite. I guess we could play poker or something. But only if we have tiny bets; I'm too tired to be too risky."

"We could play without bets. Or, yeah, we could play it like a drinking game! Losers have to chug a full cup of mate!"

"Except I'm not drinking it, albino potato."

"Oh. Right. Well? Losers have to chug their drink?"

"Yeah, all right." Denmark stood up. "Move to the kitchen?" Ah, but it would be harder to put the habanero in the cups if they did that. England might see.

Apparently Prussia was thinking the same panicked thoughts, but England said, "No. Come in the dining room; we can play in there. Let me get the cards and chips. You blokes make some more of this stuff." He drained the dregs of his cup and put it back on the tray.

"Kesesese! All right. Romano and I will be on kitchen duty. Den, you go help Arthur set up the table. Do we need anything else? Snacks?"

"There are things in the pantry," England reminded Romano. "Pretzels, crisps, whatever. No scones today, though."

"Oh, England," Romano wailed, the back of a hand pressed against his forehead. "No scones? Oh, bastard, I came all the way to London just to _eat your home-baked scones._" But he couldn't maintain this and began spluttering.

England scowled at him and gave him a shove. "Git. Go do some work."

Prussia and Romano laughed together as they took the tea tray back to the kitchen.

…

"Right. The game is seven-card stud. Ante up. Opening bid is two chips. Whoever's got the least number of chips at the end of this hand has to chug his drink." England shuffled; Denmark, to his right, cut the deck.

"I'm not going to lose," Prussia decided. "Though, now, if we were playing _strip_ poker, I might lose on purpose."

"Forget it, you moron. I don't want to see you naked!"

"But Romano! I glow in the moonlight, and there's a full moon tonight. I also glow a bit under black light. I used to have a whole disco-type of setup in the basement, and – "

"Shut up and play, dammit!"

…

By three a.m., Denmark was seriously regretting this dumb bet. Both the mate bet, and the poker bet! England and Romano had both been on winning streaks tonight, which meant that Prussia and Den had had more than their fair share of the habanero drink. Romano kept grinning, matching them cup for cup even though he didn't have to, and England calmly sipped his drink and played poker with a quiet demeanor.

"Good thing we're not making real bets," Prussia groaned, a short while later. "I'm exhausted and floating! I need the bathroom."

"Me too," Den said. Yes, he needed the bathroom, but he also wanted to strategize with Prussia. They escaped from the room before either of the others could give any ridiculous commentary.

"Man, this is gross," Prussia whined, hurrying to the bathroom. "I thought I could handle it, but it's disgusting. And Arthur isn't even losing!"

"But he's still drinking, and he hasn't complained. That was the only term of the bet."

"Yeah, but ugh. At least Romano can drink coffee. Though he might be getting sauced." Prussia leaned over the toilet. "Think I can make myself puke? I feel disgusting."

"Don't do it, stupid. Just make the next pot of mate without any habanero!" Den shoved him aside and used the facilities.

"Yeah, I guess. But I feel kind of lame, caving in like that."

"If I thought it would do any good, I'd tell you to keep going, but it looks like we'll win on technicalities but kill ourselves. Just do what you need to do." He flushed and washed his hands.

"Yeah, all right," Prussia groaned. "Put the bag of pretzels at my seat. Maybe they'll soak up some of this shit."

"Okay." Den left him in the bathroom and went back to the dining room.

…

Two hours later things were looking good, though Gilbird had fallen asleep on the pile of spare poker chips and nobody wanted to disturb him, so they'd changed the rules a little. England had begun losing, and was carefully (yet slowly) draining his cup every time. Denmark, whose mouth was numb, didn't know whether Prussia had stopped putting habanero in the pot or not, though, and he couldn't ask him or Romano with England sitting right there! They played on, taking occasional bathroom breaks.

England was beginning to look a little green around the gills, too, Den noticed. Good. It wasn't right that he and Prussia should suffer for this damn bet all by themselves!

Romano was in the clear lead, although he too sipped happily from his cup periodically. "Bastards, how are you doing? Not too tired of drinking yet?"

"No," Prussia moaned, "but we're running out of mate."

"What? We brought a whole pound!" Denmark's eyes bugged out. "How is that possible? We haven't been drinking _that_ much, have we?"

"Of course you have, git! Three of us, drinking it nonstop? Besides, you have to use a lot of leaves to make a pot of mate. It's not like using a teabag."

"H-how did you know that?" Romano wondered.

"I'm not an idiot, you know. I do _know_ about it, even though I never had it. Anyway, we can make regular tea if we run out of your shite. Come on. Are we playing?"

"Soon dawn," Prussia pointed out weakly. "I think I'll go home at dawn."

"Good idea, T.K. Yeah, deal."

England dealt. "What about you, wanker? You staying here?"

"Cheh, of course I am. Why should I haul my ass all the way back to Italy when there's a nice cozy bed right here waiting for me?" He pinched the island nation's cheek and all three of the others stared at him.

"He _is_ sauced," Prussia laughed, finally. "Come on. Play."

…

At five-thirty the mate was gone, the bottle of habanero sauce was empty, Romano was bouncing off the walls, and both Prussia and Denmark said they felt sick and gross. "I'm heading for home," Prussia said, as decisively as he could. "Take me home, Den. Or to a hospital. God, that stuff is horrible."

Denmark was sweating and mopped his brow. "Sure. Hey, thanks, you guys. We'll – ah – we'll get together soon?"

England seemed quite in control of himself, and very concerned for his friends, though his hands gripped the door jamb and his face was still quite pale. "Are you sure you're all right? We could take you to a hospital here, or I have some syrup of ipecac? If you think it would help." He burped. "Excuse me."

"Not sure that would do any good." Romano eyed them all critically. "I mean, it's in their systems already, for the last, what, five hours? I think they should wait until it works out of their system. But yes, we could take you to the hospital here, if you really thought it would help."

"Nah. It's not that bad; I just feel miserable. I'm never going to drink yerba mate again," Prussia groaned again. "Come on, Den." He beckoned to Gilbird, too, who cheeped gently and landed on his hair.

"Call us when you feel better," England told them, waving as they headed down the steps.

Romano closed the door and turned to the blond. "Bastard, are you sure you're all right?" He cupped his friend's face carefully.

"Eh, yeah, not bad. But I think Gilbert's right. I'm not going to touch the stuff again. Give me Earl Grey any day."

"Don't worry about it. Come upstairs; let's get some sleep. You'll feel better later."

"All right."

Together they slowly went up the stairs, Romano nervously attending to the weakened island nation. They went sketchily through their pre-bed routines, halfheartedly washing up, and slipped under the covers of the big bed together. "I'm glad you came to see me, git, even though I now feel so bad."

Romano kissed his cheek. "Just rest. I can stay all weekend."

"Mm. Good. Good night."

"Good night, bastard."

England fell asleep within seconds, snoring, and Romano lay awake, hugging to himself the delicious secret joy of having pranked all three of his friends into drinking that disgusting goo for five hours. Too bad he'd never be able to tell anyone.

…

_Kastiyana taught me about yerba mate, and I've tried it (without habanero sauce) and it's a lot like green tea, but prepared differently._

_I was going to go with the "tea brewed from tobacco" idea, until I read that it really does make you hurl._


	69. Better than Nürburgring

_So, we watched every Avengers movie in the series, this week, and…yeah._

…

**Better than Nürburgring. **

"So, are we awesomely going to race at the Nürburgring next weekend?" Prussia asked Den, at the end of a long week of meetings.

To his amazement Denmark wouldn't meet his eyes. "Next weekend? I, uh, well, I c-can't do it, n-next weekend," he said, sounding sheepish, scanning the horizon.

"What? Why not? What have you got going on that doesn't include the awesome me?" Prussia poked him in the arm. "What secret are you keeping?"

"Shh! Keep it down." Here, Den looked furtively around the area, as if for eavesdroppers, but no one was near. His voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. "I just can't, all right? I have – have some – some – I have a friend coming over."

"What?" Prussia, getting into the spirit of the thing, was equally quiet. "What friend? Norway?"

"Shh! Not Norway." Denmark shook his head. He scanned the area one more time and then leaned forward to whisper into the albino's ear.

"You're _joking!_ Man! Can I come over? Can I? Can I, please?" Prussia's eyes were stretched wide and he was jumping up and down in his excitement.

"Shut _up!_ Listen, stupid, if anybody else gets word of this – "

"Aw, but I have to tell Romano and Arthur. They were already planning to do the Nürburgring."

Den shook his head, and then stopped and bit his lip. "All right. You can tell them – and _only_ them, do you understand? If America finds out – " He shook his axe threateningly at his boyfriend, who nodded in understanding.

"Got it," he hissed. "Won't tell America, won't tell anybody but Romano and Arthur. And I'll make sure they don't tell anyone." He snorted. "Arthur's going to totally crow about it, afterwards, you know."

"I know. But that's all right."

The albino stepped closer and put his mouth to Denmark's ear. "When and where?"

"My place, Saturday at eight," was the stealthy whispered response.

…

Prussia hadn't said a word. Not even to Arthur and Romano. Not until they arrived at his house early Saturday, pumped and ready for the Nürburgring. "Slight change in plans," he announced vaguely, once Romano had begun the long drive. "Head for, oh, why don't we go to Kiel for the day? Then we can head to Den's later on."

Of course his nonchalant attitude was a complete fail. Arthur stared at him and Romano pulled the car over to the side of the road. "What the fuck are you cooking up now?" the Italian wondered. "Where the hell is Den, anyway? I thought he was meeting us there?"

"Uh, well, yeah, well, he, uh – " Prussia stumbled to a halt. "Come here," he beckoned, reaching over the back seat to grab their arms and pull them closer.

"Ow. Git. Just tell us."

"I can't! I promised him if I told you I'd whisper it, so nobody else found out!"

Romano snorted. "There's nobody else in the car, you idiot."

"Tell us what?" Arthur poked him.

He flapped his hands to get them to come closer. "He's having some friends over. We're allowed to go, but we can't – tell – anyone. _Nobody._ All right?" Prussia sat back with a smug smile.

"We can't tell anybody anything anyway, you stupid idiot, because we don't know what's going on!" Romano tried to reach over the seat and punch him, but couldn't get the leverage he needed.

"Look, wanker, just tell us. Whisper if you have to, but stop all this cryptic spy rubbish."

"Yeah, because _you're_ the only one allowed to do any 'spy rubbish,' right, bastard? Dammit, you and that stupid James Bond – "

Prussia sat back in amazement as the two began to bicker about this. "Shut up!" he bellowed after a moment, and they did. "What is it with you two and this same damn argument? Shut up about it and bring your ears here, or I won't tell you."

"Fine. Don't tell us. Let's just go to the Nürburgring." Arthur exhaled sharply and sat back in the seat.

"You're going to love it," Prussia promised.

"Well? Here's my fucking ear, stupid. Tell me." Romano presented an ear.

Prussia leaned forward and whispered the news.

Romano began laughing so hard that Arthur looked worried. "You dumbass. You really think England and I are going to fall for that?" He kept laughing, holding his sides, while Arthur stared and Prussia pouted.

"It's true, I tell you."

"What?" Arthur finally asked. "What's true?"

"Bastard, he said the fucking Avengers are going drinking at Den's place."

Well, Arthur started laughing, too, and Prussia got very angry. "Shut up and drive to Kiel," he snapped. They didn't believe him? Fine. They'd find out, when they got there. "Just drive to Kiel," he snarled at Romano, who conquered his laughter and drove.

…

From Denmark's driveway they could already hear the party. "I still can't believe this," Romano grumbled. "Anyway, what the hell do I care about a stupid bunch of superheroes?" Even though he was, kind of, sort of, interested.

"You don't want to see Thor? Kesesese! I bet he's awesome. Almost as awesome as me."

"Pfft. He's a _god,_ you idiot. You've got a long way to go before you're in his league."

"Shut it, gits, and ring the doorbell." England struggled under the weight of a case of rum they'd picked up on the way.

When Prussia rang the doorbell all the noise inside instantly stopped, and then tentatively began again. A flushed and laughing Denmark opened the door wide. Wearing his Viking helmet and carrying a hammer that really did look like Thor's, he laughed some more. "Hey! Hi, guys! Come in, come in! We're down at the bar." He grabbed Prussia by the arm and dragged him inside; England dumped the case of rum by the front door. He and Romano slowly followed their drunken host.

"Is that really Thor's hammer?" England wondered.

"Do you think he'd actually let Den carry it? I thought Thor was the only one who could lift it," Romano hissed.

"How the bloody hell would I know?"

They stumbled into the bar area behind Prussia and Den, and stopped in shock.

Standing around the bar was a now-silent group of superheroes, staring, equally shocked, back at them. Captain America, Black Widow, and a very happy Hulk, next to the laughing Denmark.

"Where's Thor?" Prussia wondered aloud, scanning the room, and then all the superheroes burst into laughter.

"Hey, Iggy! Great to see you," Captain America laughed, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"What? _What?_" England took a much closer look at the assembled group. "Denmark, you bloody idiot! You're _all_ idiots!" he roared.

America, Belarus, and a green-painted Russia began laughing and drinking again. Denmark set the toy hammer on the bar and picked up his drink, downing it in one go, and smashed the glass on the floor. "Another!"

…

_I'm envisioning this as a little superhero club they have, and Russia hates being the Hulk, but he likes being part of the club so he deals with it. They will recruit Prussia to be Iron Man, and then England and Romano will pout and stop speaking to them for several weeks._


	70. Thrift Shop

_I'm not usually one for song-based fics, but sometimes a song just begs to be made into a chapter. Thanks to Macklemore x Ryan Lewis for this one._

…

**Thrift Shop.**

"Why the fuck are you two dragging me to this place, anyway?" Romano eyed the large, sprawling building with distaste. In one of Berlin's less attractive areas, the whole place seemed seedy. The fence around the property was in disrepair, the parking lot blacktop cracked and pitted; a few old vehicles stood in the far corner, looking as if they'd disintegrate into piles of rust at the slightest puff of wind.

"Kesesese! This place always has great stuff. I try to shop here when I can, because it's so much cheaper than department stores, and you know about West and his wallet."

"What about your stupid casino money?" The Italian scowled at his friend.

"Ha ha! He blew it all, didn't he?" Denmark laughed. "On the Alaska cruise. I've been helping him out a little since then, but basically he's back to the same old broke Prussia."

"Dammit, I should have known. Don't come begging me for cash, stupid."

"Aw, I awesomely won't, Romano. But I do only have 20 Euros today." Prussia held the door to the thrift store open. "Come in! Let's see what kind of treasures we can find."

"Phew! This place stinks, bastards!"

"Shh! Don't be mean. It always smells a bit funny in here, but don't worry about it. Just come on; it won't be so bad."

"Seriously, T. K., what are we looking for today, anyway?" Den wondered, fingering a worn black leather jacket as they passed it. "Clothes? These are in pretty bad shape. I'm not sure you want to be seen in them."

"Clothes, toys, whatever," Prussia laughed, dancing down an aisle. "Whatever we find that's cool!"

"_Toys?_ You've finally gone out of your albino gourd. Unless you mean cool stuff like Legos." Romano wrinkled his nose at the smell.

"Oh, I just meant 'stuff,' you know. Things that would be cool, that aren't clothes. Come on, let's head over to the awesome appliance department."

"Appliances? You're going to buy a washing machine? What's Germany going to say about that?" Denmark ruffled the white hair and burst out laughing. "Or are you too embarrassed to mix your laundry in with his?" Even Romano snorted at that.

"I told you, Den, I don't know _what_ I'm awesomely going to buy. Need to see what they've got. But it's unlikely I'd buy a washing machine," he considered. "I mean, we'd have to worry about hookups and shit, and I'm not even sure we really have the space for – _oh! _Look at that!" Prussia pointed to an electronic keyboard. "That'd be awesome. You could learn to play it, Romano, and then we could all jam together!" He hurried over and examined it.

"Don't buy shit for me, stupid. My skin's crawling just being in this place."

"It's broken," Denmark pointed out. "The back is cracked open." He laughed. "That seems kind of indicative of this whole place."

The three of them examined the broken keyboard. "Well, I bet I could fix it, or West can. How much is it?" The albino checked the tag. "Yeah! I'm going to buy it. Wait here while I go get a cart. Don't let anyone else take it!" This despite the fact that they were the only customers in the store.

"He's nuts," Romano announced to the world in general, watching Prussia scamper off.

"Yeah, well. Nothing we can do about it." They both tried to ignore their surroundings while they waited.

When Prussia came back with the cart he and Denmark loaded the keyboard into it. "Got the plug and all that shit?" Romano asked.

"Yes, yes, I got it."

"Are we done yet?" Denmark poked him.

"You must be kidding. I usually spend about three hours here."

Both his friends groaned. "Well? Move it, bastard. The sooner you get looking at this stuff, the sooner we can get out of here."

"Right, here, Den, you push the cart." Prussia ran off down an aisle of clothes; his friends followed a bit more sedately.

"I can't believe we're doing this. This is severely lame, even for him."

"You're telling me, bastard. If I'd known this was on his agenda I would have stayed home."

"What's England up to today?"

"No fucking idea. When I told him I was meeting you two, he said 'good luck with that' and hung up." They laughed together, finally catching up to Prussia.

"Check this out. Isn't it sweet?" He held up a pink fringed vest. "Wouldn't this look awesome on me?"

"You're an idiot. First of all, it looks like a cowgirl stripper shirt. Second of all, it smells horrible! I can smell it from all the way over here." Romano turned his whole body away from the offending garment; Prussia, laughing, flapped it towards him like a bullfighter's cape.

Denmark stepped back from this. "Plus it looks crappy, Prussia; that color will make you look sick."

"Bet it'd look great on Romano, though…am I right? Kesesese!"

"Look, you ass. You're not getting me into any of this secondhand, ugly shit! When I'm not wearing my uniform I wear Armani, or Gucci. Not this no-name crap." He smirked.

"Gucci! That's like, fifty Euros for a t-shirt, my friend." Even Denmark looked amazed. "Where do you get the money?"

"Don't worry about me. I _economize_, so that I can dress well and I don't have to look like a stupid homeless person." He lashed out and kicked Prussia in the shin.

"Ow. Stop. Well, all right; I admit this thing does smell a little funny." Prussia hung it back up.

"Watch the cart," Den said absently. "I'm going to go look at shoes. I want to see what kind of stuff they have."

"Oh, bring the cart, Romano. The shoes are usually pretty fun to look at." The two of them left Romano standing in the aisle with the cart.

"Dammit. Stupid bastards," he muttered, but pushed the cart after them. He knew they were just doing this to get back at him for his haughty commentary, but fuck! This stuff might be cheap, but it was awful. He couldn't even think of a word bad enough for it. He wrinkled his nose at a rack of footed Batman pajamas (in grown-up sizes, dammit) as he hurried to catch up with them. "Hey." He bashed Denmark in the ass with the cart. "Don't make me push this, stupid."

Den laughed and ruffled his hair. "Yeah, all right, all right."

"Check these out! Green alligator dress shoes." Prussia held them up. "Or, well, they might just be leather stamped to look like alligator; I know a lot of places do that these days, since alligators are endangered or something." He peered inside. "Oh. Too small for me. Want to try them on, Romano?"

"Chigi! No. Come on, just hurry it up? I'd even rather be playing paintball than loafing around this place."

"You're kidding. You are kidding, right?"

What the hell; he might as well. "No, I'm not kidding. Can we go?"

"Okay." Prussia put the shoes back down on the rack. "Where did Den go?"

They glanced around the well-lit store for him, and couldn't find him, though they did hear a bunch of giggling from some children near the dressing rooms. "You think that's him, bastard?"

"Must be." Prussia started to push the cart over, but then left it. "Forget the stupid keyboard. Not awesome. Let's go."

The two of them hurried to the dressing room area, where Denmark stood in a big-ass orange fox fur coat with the hood up, admiring his reflection in the mirror. "Den?" the albino asked carefully. "Romano wants to go play paintball."

Denmark smiled at his reflection. "This is fucking awesome!"

…

_You can see the video on Youtube, of course._


	71. The New Avengers

_Remember that chapter about the Avengers?_

…

**The New Avengers.**

"I am not happy about this at all," Romano grumbled. "Why do those fuckers have to go off and do private shit when we have nothing to do? I wanted to do something fun. Maybe racing at the stupid Nürburgring or something."

"Deal with it, git. Are you bored with me? Maybe want to start dating Prussia, so you don't miss out on all this shite? Ow!" England yelled, as the Italian punched him.

"Bastard, you get nastier all the time." He put his elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand, staring out the window of England's kitchen. "Let's go crash their party."

"You're serious? With Russia and Belarus there?" England finished his tea. "If you like."

"I have an idea, though." Romano had been mulling this over for weeks, trying to figure out how best to annoy the damn albino potato and Denmark. Hmm, he needed to come up with some annoying nickname for Den, too. Maybe later. For now, he explained his idea to England, who laughed.

"You really think you can pull this off? I'm game. I've got some things that can help." He pointed to his eye and made a little circling motion. "Come upstairs."

"Heh heh. Those bastards are going to shit."

"I doubt that. But we'll see."

…

The fake Avengers sat around Prussia's house this time, honoring their newest member, Iron Man. Prussia loved his new outfit – polished titanium (he'd gotten a loan from West and had asked America to fabricate it), and he looked both fearsome and awesome in it – but it clanked when he walked, and it was kind of hot, too. And of course it was impossible to drink beer through the little mouth slit. So at the moment he was only wearing the fancy gloves. Now, those were _really_ cool. America had put little suction cups on them, so they could stick to his beer can! "Kesesese!"

"What are you laughing about?" America playfully elbowed him.

"Love my new suit! You guys are all awesome." The two of them toasted each other and looked over towards the fireplace, where Belarus and Den hunched over a checkerboard, madly concentrating.

"What do you mean, you love your new suit? You're not even wearing it!" Russia loomed over him, and the pure green-ness of him was a bit disturbing. From the side they heard one of the checkers players making a lot of jumps.

"Ah, you know what I mean. This is a fun club. We should go out somewhere in our costumes."

"Man, I love cosplay," America agreed. "Count me in."

"Hey, Den! Want to go out somewhere?"

The Viking glanced up, a frown furrowing his forehead. "What? Out where?"

"I don't care! We just want to go out in public in our costumes."

"Might as well," Belarus grumbled, "you're thrashing me at checkers." She tilted the board and all the checkers fell onto the rug. Denmark scowled at her, but she wasn't paying attention to him any longer.

"Well, you have to get into the full costume," the Viking pointed out. "Not just your gloves." He stood up and grabbed his toy hammer.

"Deal!" Prussia scrambled to get into his whole suit; both America and Russia helped him buckle up. "Awesome!" He turned to the stairway and bellowed out, "Hey, _West!_ We're going out now, see you in a bit!"

"Fine," floated down the stairs, in a very long-suffering tone.

Out on the streets of Berlin the group had all the attention that Prussia could ever wish for. People stared, waved, laughed; a few little kids even looked scared at the sight of them (probably the sight of Russia, he grinned to himself). After a few blocks of walking it became almost impossible to move because of the throng. "Let's go to a beer garden and drink," he suggested.

"Forget it," Den told him, bopping him on the helmet with the hammer. "Nobody will see us if we're in the back of a beer garden somewhere. Let's find a place with sidewalk seating."

Russia agreed. "If I have to be out in public looking like this, I at least want to get some kudos for it, da?" He raised a green hand and pointed to a place down the street, next to a neighborhood park. "How about that one?"

"Sounds good to me, Brother." Pfft. Of course anything Russia wanted sounded good to Belarus.

The group made their way over and sat in chairs around a small table. Prussia pushed back the face plate of his helmet long enough to order a couple of pitchers of awesome beer, and by the time the waiter had left (with a little smile on his face) people had begun snapping pictures with cell phones and calling out to distant friends to "come see!"

A young boy had worked up his nerve to come speak to them all. "Are you really the Avengers?" he asked breathlessly, from a safe distance.

"Kesesese! Of course we are!" The albino winked at America, who snorted and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Cool! Why is your suit not red?"

"This is a new experimental model. It's made out of awesome titanium. You like it?"

The boy tilted his head to the side, considering. "It's not as shiny as the red one."

"I know!" Prussia grinned (as did all his friends) when the waiter returned with their pitchers. He poured himself a beer and sipped. "It's for stealth ops. In this suit, I can conceal myself better in the dark." At that, Den spit beer back into his glass, and America actively laughed.

"Wow." The boy stood with his jaw slack, staring, and then suddenly an arrow landed in the pitcher, knocking it all over America.

The hero immediately crouched down, lifting his shield to protect himself; the others all stood up and assumed superhero poses. "All right, what's going on here?" Belarus growled.

A smirking, eyepatched man in a long black coat strode up to the table. "Why aren't you bastards out saving the world?" he barked.

"Uh? C-Colonel Fury?" America stammered, rising and ripping off an intense salute.

"Wow," the little kid said again, staring at the newcomer.

"Who shot the arrow?" Russia wondered, ignoring the others.

A man all in black, with a longbow, joined them. "Gits," he nodded.

"Iggy?" America dropped his hand from the salute and stared. "Holy shit, is that _Romano_?"

All of the nations began laughing, including England and Romano. "Tell me you fell for that, stupid?" he snorted, elbowing the hero in the ribs.

"Ow. Well, I really wasn't expecting anything like that."

"Kesesese! You two are brilliant, you know, awesomely brilliant." Prussia grabbed two chairs from another table and pulled them over. "Sit down! Have a beer."

"Cheh." Romano grabbed a beer and chugged it. "Didn't want you bastards having all the fun."

Denmark laughed at him and ruffled his hair. "You mean you were just bored hanging around with England, and you missed us."

"Chigi! Am I this transparent?" He sloppily poured another beer.

At that, even Belarus laughed, and the group of superheroes sat down again to begin some serious, heroic drinking, waving to passersby all night long.


	72. Vienna Opera Ball

_A Fanfiction writer with the username Christoph Andretti ran a series of '2014 Hetalia Awards.' "Skirmish Brothers" won for Best Anthology! Thank you to everyone who voted for it. A number of other things were nominated but didn't win. _

_So I bring you a new adventure, from a suggestion by Now-I-Know. (I was going to keep it to one chapter, but the bastards got out of control again…)_

…

**Vienna Opera Ball.**

Down in Prussia's ancient basement bedroom, where the garish 1970s chartreuse shag rug fought for dominance over the flat black walls, a scene of sartorial mayhem was taking place. Four nations jockeyed for position before the dingy, peeling mirror, grabbed hairbrushes, got dressed, cursed. A silk tie lay on the floor, unheeded; the humid air was thick with the scent of soap and hair gel. "Dammit, this is so stupid. Why didn't we get a hotel?" Romano grumbled, trying to tie his white bowtie. "Why didn't we go to Vienna first? This room is too fucking small! And where the hell is my watch?" He was panicking because they were a little late, panicking because England kept jabbing him whenever he panicked. And of course the albino potato just kept laughing maniacally at him. Bastard.

Prussia handed him his watch. "Here you go, my friend. I just thought it would be sensible to try to save money! All my casino money is gone," he admitted sadly, squirting himself liberally with some imported American men's cologne and then bending down to scoop up the trampled white tie.

"Gack! Gilbert, that stuff stinks." England fanned away the droplets and the other three stepped as far back from the albino as they could, coughing. "Ugh. You smell like horse gonads."

Romano stopped tying his tie and stared. "When the hell have you ever smelled horse gonads, bastard?" Denmark bawled in laughter at that.

"Don't be a git. It's just an expression." The blond reached for the hairbrush and tried to yank it through his clean, yet snarly hair, but it was no use, and he tossed it behind him to land on the unmade bed.

"Kesesese! It doesn't stink. It was a gift from America. It smells manly and cool, huh, Den? Heroic!" Prussia twirled around in the confined space, knocking into the dresser, and incidentally wafting more cologne around the place.

Denmark, now wedged into the back corner of the room, gently used his fingers to tease his hair into an even more upright style, without even using the mirror. "Whatever."

Romano burst out laughing and poked Prussia in the arm. "Idiot," he said, with less venom than usual. "You actually look pretty nice." He finished tying the bowtie and stepped back from the mirror. "Too bad you smell so bad." He smirked.

All four of them looked good, he realized. Each in white tie and tails, military medals (though Romano didn't have too many of those), gleaming black pumps, and tasteful shirt studs – although Prussia, in addition to the Iron Cross dangling beneath the bowtie, had a top hat and a cane as well. Pfft. Showoffy bastard. Could never resist the excess. Romano scooped up his white kid gloves and opened the bedroom door to get some fresh air in there. "I hope our tuxes don't get creased on the drive."

"Don't worry about it," England told him, throwing a black-clad arm around his shoulders and squeezing affectionately. "Everyone else's will too."

Tonight the four friends would be attending the Vienna Opera Ball, one of Austria's most prestigious evening functions. They had been looking forward to it for months, ever since Prussia had suggested it. Yes, it was a haul from Berlin to Vienna, but if the albino potato was out of cash –

Screw it. It was too late to do anything about it now. "Hurry up, bastards. I want to pick up some espresso on the way. Don't want to be falling asleep tonight!"

"Great idea!" Prussia slapped the black top hat on his head, twirled the ivory cane, and used it to reach out and poke the primping England in the ass. "Shift it, Arthur. Stop fussing. You look perfect." He blew a kiss to the island nation.

"Yes, all right. You look bloody elegant, Lucy. Or should I call you Fred Astaire?"

With a stagey grin, the albino pirouetted in place, reaching the cane to poke his boyfriend this time. "Come on, Den. You're driving."

"Fine. I'm driving." Denmark scooped up his phone and slipped it into his breast pocket before winking at himself in the mirror and switching off the lights.

Smooth and elegant, the four friends slipped quietly out of the empty house, locking the door behind them, and eased into the big brown Danish car for the long drive to Vienna.

…

"Quite a crowd," England said, nose pressed against his window, long before they were anywhere near a parking place. The weather was crisp and perfect, no hint of rain, and the streets of Vienna were absolutely thronged. Swells in evening wear strolled towards the Opera House; street vendors sold food to gawking, casually-dressed passersby; energetic children ran squealing here and there, delighted to be out after dark for this fancy occasion. Flashbulbs went off frantically, as people posed and strutted for photographs. "Are these people just passing by, or are they here specifically to celebrity-spot?"

"Kesesese! Wait until we get out of this car. I'll give them an awesome celebrity show." Prussia began to tap dance his feet in the footwell, shifting his ass back and forth, grinning like the fool he was.

Romano ignored the idiotic (and predictable) comment. "This ought to be fun, though," he admitted. "I love formal events, and Austria's right at the top of the list for formal." He glanced at England again. Despite the hair disaster (which, really, no one should ever expect to be different), the bastard looked remarkable. The brunet felt very proud to have such a classy boyfriend, and took his hand for a few seconds. Surprised, England turned to smile at him, and they gazed at each other happily until the car went over a speed bump when Den turned to maneuver into a parking garage.

Prussia muttered "Casino," trying to be subtle about it.

"Casino what? You want to go to the casino instead? Bloody hell."

"No, no, no. I want to go to the casino _afterwards._ I need to make some more money, and it's that lucky time of the year for me, kesesese!" He pulled on his white gloves.

Lucky time of the year? England and Romano shrugged at each other.

"What lucky time of the year?" Den asked, pulling the car into one of the rooftop spaces, the only ones left available.

"It's almost a year since our last casino visit! Honestly, how can you clowns not remember something so epic?"

Romano snorted once more. "Because I keep trying to repress the damn memory, you moron. You _thief._"

Den shut off the engine. "Shut up, all you little boys, and let's go."

…

Outside the imposing building Romano reached for England's hand. Yes, yes, he knew it was a little embarrassing, but this crowd was huge, and he didn't want to get separated. Now he wished he wasn't wearing gloves; he always liked holding the blond's cool hand, but tonight he was fucked, because he had nowhere to stash the gloves if he took them off. And they were too nice to trash. "What time is it?" he hissed, as someone bumped him and moved on with a quick apology.

"We're fine."

"Pfft." Romano checked his watch. Yeah, they had time. Someone else jostled him and he bumped into England, who put a protective arm around him. The brunet poked the albino potato. "Listen, idiot. Give us each our tickets now, so that if we get separated in this mess, we'll be able to get inside and regroup."

Denmark, towering over everyone, pulled his attention away from the teeming crowd. "Good idea, T. K. Give me my ticket." He held out a hand; the other two stood waiting.

If Prussia could have gone any whiter, he would have. "Uh? Y-you didn't buy tickets?" he asked Den, before turning to the amazed (and now wholly pissed off) Romano. "Why didn't you buy tickets? You know I never have any money!"

"You _fucking moron!_" Romano kicked him in the shin, repeatedly, because there was no room for Prussia to run. "You dragged us all the way here, in these fancy clothes, and you didn't tell us we needed _tickets?"_

"Ow, Romano, stop! You're going to get my pants all dirty!" Prussia tried to hop away, but he had no room even to squirm away. "Ow! I – I guess I just forgot!" He twisted, trying to get his legs away from his friend's crazed kicking.

"Gilbert, you absolute _tosser._ You really are a bozo. Just like Lucy." England clutched at his head. "I can't believe this."

Denmark scowled down at him. "You know I love you, Prussia, but this is so typical and so fucking stupid!" He pounded down on the top hat, crushing it. "I can't stand it when you get us into these messes!" Pound, pound.

"Stop, stop!" Prussia tried to stab Den's foot with the cane, but as he drew back his arm, his elbow hit a lady in evening dress and a tiara. "Oh! Sorry," he muttered to her; she sneered and moved on, but not before her escort elbowed the albino in the side. "Ow."

"Well, _bugger._ What are we going to do now?" England wondered.

Romano narrowed his eyes as he watched Prussia try (and fail) to restore the top hat. "Is this your stupid way of accidentally-on-purpose getting us to the damn casino?" He growled. "I hate you. I really, really hate you!"

"Uh. No, I really didn't plan that. But we _could_ –"

"No, we couldn't!" the other three chorused.

The crowd had begun to disperse somewhat as partygoers made their way into the building. "Look. It seems to me we have three choices," England snapped. "Go home, go to the bloody casino, or try to get into the Opera Ball. Maybe they have tickets available?"

"The casino is off the list, on principle," Den announced firmly, and Romano nodded a feverish approval.

"Well?" the island nation wondered. "Should we try to get in? Maybe Austria's there and we can ask him for help."

"Is it done by seating, though? Maybe there aren't enough empty seats." This was what worried Romano the most.

"I'll go see," Prussia gasped out, probably just to get away from them. Before anyone could say a word, he was gone, twisting through the crowd like a fish, the battered top hat marking his progress.

Den whipped out his phone. "Let me see if I can find anything in here about it. Number of attendees or whatever."

"Fine." Romano linked his arm with England's and they observed the dwindling crowd for a while.

_"Fandens!"_ Denmark yelled, tipping his head to the sky. "I hate that self-centered, oblivious, idiotic –"

"What? What is it?" His two friends turned to him in concern.

"Sixteen thousand Euros! That's the price of the cheapest ticket! _One ticket!"_

Many people nearby laughed at this outburst, some obviously wealthy enough to afford entry tickets, and some commoners who just laughed for the fun of it. "Je-_sus_," Romano finally managed. "How the fuck did he think we could attend this? He actually thought we'd pay that much to get him in there?"

"Right." England fixed the cuffs of his shirt. "Let's just blow. We can go somewhere else and leave the git here to rot all alone."

"I'm with you," Den snarled, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. "In fact, we should go to the damn casino without him! Romano?"

"What the hell. Might as well go there, now that we're all dolled up." He sighed. He really did love formal events, and England looked so damn good tonight! He'd really wanted to saunter in there with the gorgeous blond on his arm. Dammit. He was never, never, never going to agree to any of Prussia's schemes unless he could thoroughly research them beforehand! "Come on."

But as they turned to go, the albino came breathlessly back, waving the cane. "Okay, okay! It's all settled. We – we just have to wait until most of the people are inside, okay?"

They all stared at him with frowns. "You what?" England finally said.

Romano bit his lip. "How did you manage to get tickets?"

"Or maybe Austria's cutting you some slack? Though I can't imagine why," Den said. "Well?"

"It's not that big a deal! I bought the tickets but left them at the box office. I had a little money left from the casino."

Each of the other three froze. It was obvious to each of them that he was lying. He couldn't possibly have had 64,000 Euros just floating around. Romano frantically cast his mind back to their last casino day. No! The bastard had only _won_ 25,000! What the hell was he playing at?

England and Denmark both had equally suspicious looks on their faces. "So…you…got us four tickets?" the Viking asked, in a very cautious, reasonable tone.

Oh, this could not be good. This could not be good! The albino potato was lying, and they were going to get in some serious shit with Austria…Romano's teeth began chattering with nerves, and he squeezed England's hand so hard that he thought he might break it.

"We got four tickets!" Prussia was fairly oblivious to the tension, it seemed. He did a little tap dance move, forgetting that his top had had been bashed in; he looked like a lunatic ringmaster from some third-rate circus. "Come on! Let's go!" He spun and began leading the way towards the now-deserted steps, lifting and lowering the cane like a drum major, and continued to march around in circles for the entertainment of the masses while his friends spoke in low tones.

"He's lying," Den muttered.

"I know it, bastard. That's more than he actually won at the casino!"

"Well? Do we leave him here? I admit I'm bloody curious to see what he's got up his sleeve."

"B-but Austria? Won't Austria get mad? I don't want him mad at me!" Romano squeezed again.

Den took a deep breath. "I don't think Austria would get too mad at him. They have too much of a history. Austria has a soft spot for Prussia."

"Shit, though, that means Austria would take it out on us. That's even worse! And you don't have your axe, dammit!"

England wrenched his hand away from Romano and began massaging some life back into it. "It could go either way. Austria will be pissed off and take it out on Gilbert, or Austria will be pissed off and take it out on us. Either way he's going to be unhappy." He grinned at the brunet. "I'll protect you, though. I'm game to try, mostly because I want to see what the bloody hell Gilbert's cooked up to get us in the door."

Pursing his lips, Denmark thought about it. "I'm game. Mostly because I want to see the expression on his face when he realizes we know he lied about it. We can hold this over his head for _years._"

That made Romano crack a smile. "I – I'm game, too, bastards. Because I love formal events and we all look excellent." Yes. The fear of Austria's wrath was outweighed by the opportunity to look good and show off at this fancy formal event. Romano leaned forward and pecked a quick kiss on England's cheek, and then smiled up at Den. "It's a good opportunity for us to get out of our rut. Let's put our happy faces on, brothers."

"Deal." They shook hands on it. "Want to make a bet?" Den grinned, his eyebrows raised in inquiry.

"Yes!" England hissed. "You wankers are always making bets without me, and I want in. What bet?"

"Bet Austria gets mad at him, and not us?"

Den shook his head. "No, Romano, that's a bad bet. For all we know, he and Austria did agree to free tickets. Bet we…can embarrass him in there?"

Three minds whirled furiously. "He doesn't embarrass easily," the island nation pointed out.

"Well? Let's not even make a bet, then, stupid. Let's just try to embarrass him."

"Sounds okay to me." Den held out his hand and they all shook hands again, before hurrying to catch up with their marching albino friend.

…

_Den is wrong; sixteen thousand Euros is the price of the cheapest_ box. _Individual tickets are 250-430 Euros each. But stay__ tuned._


	73. Vienna Opera Ball II

**Vienna Opera Ball II.**

Den felt very, very suspicious. More suspicious than he'd let on to Romano and England. Was Prussia lying? He had to be. And Denmark did not like it when his partners lied to him. Norge had only done this once, in 1814, and Den had gotten so angry he'd broken up with him and sent him to Sweden. Oh, Norge had repented, but it had taken the Viking almost a hundred years to make up with him. Damn. Well, there was nothing for it, right at this minute. Not while his other friends were standing by.

"Come on, slackers!" the albino called out.

"Might as well get in there," Den sighed, staring at that smirk.

Romano grunted. "Dumb bastard." He took England's hand and they walked towards the building.

As they passed the leering Prussia, he whacked each of them in the ass with the cane, until Den reached out and grabbed it, breaking it in half. "Stop with the cane shit," he grumbled, tossing the pieces aside.

England and Romano laughed, but Prussia's face glowed with instant rage. "Denmark! How dare you break my cane! That was an important historical artifact." He scowled and bent to pick up the pieces, slotting the broken edges together sadly.

This surprised Den and made him feel a little guilty. "Wh-what occasion?" he asked. He could sense the others holding their breath as well.

"Kesesese! Nah. I used the last of my casino money for it. It's not a big deal. I was just giving you shit. Come on, get inside." He flapped his cane pieces at them, and they all passed into the Opera House, Prussia still carrying the broken bits.

The ornate, softly lit lobby was almost deserted; a few couples primped or murmured here and there, preparatory to entering the main hall. Even though the big doors were shut, they could hear the music and susurration of voices luring them onward. "Hold on a minute, T. K. Let me fix that. You look ridiculous." Denmark, still feeling a little bad about the cane, took the bashed hat and awkwardly tried to prod it back into a shape resembling a top hat.

Romano scoffed at this. "Forget it, stupid. It's beyond repair, just like the damn cane. Put it behind a statue and let's go see what's going on." He gestured towards the marble busts that stood proudly around the edges of the lobby.

"Great idea, my friend." Prussia flung it like a discus and it ringed the nearest bust neatly. "That okay, Den?"

"Perfectly fine. Let's go dance or something!" The Viking finally began to relax again, and took Prussia's hand. "I'm glad we're here."

But before they could step further into the main area, Austria appeared, storming into the lobby in his beautiful white military uniform, an intense frown on his face. "I should have known you four would try to crash this!" he yelled, red-faced with anger, eyeing each one in turn.

"Prussia _said_ he bought tickets." One eyebrow raised, England drawled this in a lazy voice, smirking.

The host nation turned to him. "Well? Did you?" He crossed his arms menacingly.

But Prussia laughed. "Not really."

Shit. Den poised himself for a fight. He hadn't expected to get kicked out so soon! Looked like it would be a casino night after all.

Austria grabbed the albino's arm and shook it. "You cheapskates couldn't even afford tickets? They're not that expensive!" He huffed. "Or is it all just the thrill of the illegal for you?"

Before anyone could ask about this, or start yelling or fighting, Prussia put his hands up to placate them all. "Just calm down! Everybody calm down. We're here as West's guests. He paid for a box, right? We're here as guests in his box. Guests _of_ his box? Whatever!"

"Then why aren't you with him? Stop hanging around in the lobby and annoying me!" Austria scowled at Prussia, who laughed again and poked him with one of the pieces of the cane. "Stop that!"

"Now, wait a minute, Austria." Den towered over the brunet. "Are you going to yell at all these other people for hanging around in the lobby?" He gestured to the other guests.

"It _is_ kind of unfair how you always p-pick on P-Prussia," Romano stammered. "H-he doesn't mean any harm." He stepped back behind England after saying this.

"Aw," his friends chorused, and he smacked England in the back of the head. "Git," the blond added, drawing Romano back out beside him. "Stop hitting me."

Austria scanned the lobby, took a deep breath, and blew it out again. "All right. Prussia, I apologize for casting aspersions on you. Will that satisfy you?" He sketched a sarcastic bow.

"Kesesese! Sure, why not?"

"Just one more thing. I don't want any male couples hogging the middle of the dance floor. If you want to dance together, stay on the edges. Understood?"

A chorus of "Understoods" echoed back at him.

"Good. Now, I have to go. Make sure you behave yourselves!" Austria scurried back into the party, leaving the other four staring.

England cleared his throat and somehow made it sound nasty. "You 'bought tickets,' I believe you said?"

"Arthur, you are so damn snotty when you want to be. Yeah, I said that, but it was just to get you lard-asses moving and in the door."

"So Germany agreed to let us share his box? That's cool. I wonder how much a damn box costs," Den now wondered. "I'm going to have to look this shit up later. I thought it said sixteen thousand for a ticket, but Austria said they weren't that expensive."

"Maybe nations get a discount," Prussia suggested.

England laughed. "Maybe sixteen thousand is cheap, for Austria!"

But Romano had a different, and more important, concern. "Wait a minute, wait a minute, just wait, bastards, wait. If we have to share a box with the potato head, does that mean my idiot brother's up there? I don't want to spend the entire evening with those two dopey lovebirds, dammit!"

"Sorry. Was the only thing I could think of. And it was _awesome~_, wasn't it? We didn't have to spend sixteen thousand _or_ five hundred! Two thousand. Whatever. Kesesese! And – and anyway," Prussia said, much more seriously, "we don't really need to bother West in his box. Not unless you guys want to go sit down somewhere. They – they can be romantic all by themselves." He bounced up and down and finally put the cane down by the bust wearing his battered hat. "Come on, boys, let's get in there and shake our booty! Booties? Whatever."

"Why are you talking like such an idiot?" Romano asked. "More idiotic than usual."

"Hey, I'm just excited!" He spun in place. "My plan worked!"

"Pfft. Why do I think something else is bound to go wrong?" England muttered, loud enough for his friends to hear.

"Calm down and have fun, Ethel! Stop being so negative!"

"Right. Let's walk, Romano. Come in and dance with me, on the edges of bloody Austria's bloody formal Opera Ball."

The brunet smiled softly. "You've got a deal, you good-looking _bastardo."_

…

England and Romano danced happily, smiling and speaking to each other in tones low enough that Prussia couldn't eavesdrop, even though Den could tell he was trying to do it. They danced a few times, too, but Prussia was obviously more intent on snooping.

"Everyone looks so elegant," he now said to Denmark, as they headed for the side of the room to rest and watch. "Romano was right. Formal events are beautiful, once in a while."

"I know." Den poked him. "Even if we had to go through all that bullshit before we could get in."

"Do you see my brother anywhere?" the albino asked casually. Den, being taller, could see better over the heads of the crowd.

"Nope," he replied, after a scan of the dance floor. "In fact I don't see any other nations at all, not even Austria. Which box is Germany in?"

"Uh – I – I don't know; he – he said just to wander around until we found it." The crimson eyes flicked nervously towards Den and back to the crowd again.

Hah! He was definitely up to something. Maybe he did cook something up with Germany, but…maybe he had some other dopey Prussia scheme in mind. Denmark narrowed his eyes but then tried to play along. He didn't want Prussia getting suspicious of his suspicions! He cleared his throat. "Well, if we don't want to talk to them, I guess it doesn't really matter."

"Hey, bastards, are we going to eat, or drink, or what?" Romano slipped between the two of them, leaving England leaning against the wall eying the beautifully-dressed crowd.

"Sure, yes," Den laughed. "I want coffee."

"Uh-oh," the others chorused. But then Prussia laughed and reached up to ruffle the spiky hair. "You can have all the coffee you want, dearest, since you have to drive us back home."

"Oh. Good point." Romano conceded this with an elbow to Denmark's side. "Let's go."

"Over this way!" Prussia flapped a hand and they wandered over, England pushing himself off the wall at the last second to join them.

"I haven't seen a single other nation so far, except Austria. Have you?" Den asked the others.

"Too busy dancing." England elbowed Romano, who snorted.

Prussia reached the coffeepot first and poured for all of them, handing out the elegant cups daintily. "Is Swissy here with him, or what? I don't even remember who he's dating these days."

"Pfft. Not America, I'm guessing." England snorted a little coffee. "I don't know what's up with those two."

Den scratched his head. "I heard America was going after Seychelles," he offered. "I don't remember who told me, though."

"That'd be bloody bizarre. Worse than Switzerland, I think."

Romano had ignored all this romantic speculation while staring up at the boxes full of glittering party guests. "I – uh – I suppose we'd better find the potato bastard and thank him for letting us in as his guests." He angrily rubbed a hand over his face. "I really don't want to talk to those two, but it's the polite thing to do, right?"

England handed his already-empty cup back to a server and gave his boyfriend an affectionate squeeze. "I don't care what anybody else says. You're so noble."

"Shut the hell up" was Romano's predictable response.

Den hadn't spoken since he'd started drinking, and the two bickering lovers suddenly realized he was staring at Prussia with his eyes narrowed. The albino had backed right up against the wall and had _his_ eyes squeezed tightly shut. "What's the matter with you, Gilbert?" England asked calmly.

"It's just – I –" He pursed his lips. "Let's go sit down somewhere. Out in the lobby."

"What? Why the lobby? Shouldn't we take advantage of Germany's box? Then we could thank him, like Romano wants to do, and rest quietly." The island nation gestured towards the boxes. "It'd be more comfortable in a box than the lobby."

Den kept his eyes on his boyfriend as he said, "That sounds more sensible to me."

But he'd forgotten about Romano's desire to avoid Veneziano. "No, bastard, no. I'm happy with the lobby for now. I need to work up my nerve." He craned his neck to look up at the boxes. "Which one is the potato bastard's, anyway?"

"Prussia doesn't know," Den said, very clearly, and this got through to both Romano and England, who stared worriedly at the albino.

"You don't know? You _don't know._ Gilbert, you are the most scatterbrained –"

"Oh, shut up about it, stupid." Romano grabbed England's arm and the four of them headed into the lobby.

Denmark shoved Prussia up against the wall; he could see that both the others stared at him wide-eyed, but he was sick of all this fucking around. "What's going on?"

And to his amazement his boyfriend caved in immediately, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't say anything, but now they could all tell his was up to something. "I – I – I lied to Austria."

"To _Austria?"_ the Viking clarified.

"W-well, yeah, to Austria and you guys too."

"What was the lie, Gilbert?" England asked him kindly.

Prussia kept his eyes shut as he spoke. "I didn't talk to West. I know he'd back me up if he has to, but…I just said that to shut Austria up. A-and I lied about the tickets, when we were all outside. I came in here, but I had no idea what to do, and I heard someone talking about buying a box. I knew West would vouch for us, just so we wouldn't make a scene, but…I didn't actually ask."

Den blew out a breath. "Shit. So we're here under totally false pretenses."

"For _free,_ I remind you," Prussia retorted with a little gloat in his voice. He still didn't open his eyes, though.

"Free is not the point." The island nation began pacing back and forth in front of his friends, lecturing. "Now we have to steer clear of Germany, and Veneziano, because it's likely that Austria will say something to him, even if it's only 'Why did you invite bloody Prussia?'"

"We've been watching out for them anyway," Den told him, "but I didn't know why."

England cleared his throat and kept pacing. "But then, we also have to steer clear of Austria, because if he does have this little chat with Germany – which he's bound to do, once they run into each other – he's going to try to run us out of the party. Right?" He gave both Den and Romano very serious looks, and Den nodded.

Romano hadn't spoken this entire time, and Prussia still stood against the wall with his eyes shut. "Let me recap, bastards. Prussia sneaked us in here by telling Austria we were the potato bastard's guests. Which is a lie."

"Yes, that's the situation." Denmark spat this sourly. Was it worth breaking up over this? It _was_ a lie. Two lies.

But Romano amazed them all by stepping right up to Prussia and lifting an eyelid gently with his thumb. The crimson eye looked warily out at him. "So…we don't have to sit with my brother? Or your brother?" He sounded so hopeful that Den laughed. Yeah, it'd be all right.

Prussia finally cracked a smile. "That's awesomely right. All we have to do is _avoid_ them."

"And bloody Austria."

"And bloody Austria," the albino conceded, opening both eyes.

"You know, I love you," Romano told him, leaning forward to kiss him on the nose. "You're brilliant."

"Kesesese!"

…

_Yeah, that America-Seychelles comment was just a nod to "Under the Rowan Tree." _

_Stay tuned._


	74. Vienna Opera Ball III

**Vienna Opera Ball III.**

When they went back in, a grey-haired woman in an iridescent white ball gown edged shyly up to Romano. "Excuse me, sir. I – I have no escort this evening. Will you please d-dance with me?" A blush spread all the way up to her hairline as the others turned to look at her.

Romano was always a gentleman towards women, they knew. He cocked an eyebrow at England, who shrugged and grinned. "It will be my honor," the brunet told her, bowing once before leading her to the center of the dance floor. Other couples took their places, and the sweeping music began.

"Bollocks." England shook his head in amazement as they began the dance. He hoped Romano wouldn't be servicing old ladies all night. This was already beginning to look like a less-than-perfect evening.

"Kesesese! It's not like he's going to ditch you for some Austrian lady, you know." They ranged themselves along the wall and watched.

"That's not it. I'm worried because he's right in the middle of the dance, now. What if Austria or bloody Germany sees him?"

"Oops. Yep, good point." Each of them scanned the area, relieved to see no danger, and then went back to watching Romano. He wore a sweet smile, the kind he usually saved for England and their quiet moments. _Bugger!_ Romano should be dancing with _him. _

Prussia beamed at the dancing couple. "Maybe that lady will be so awesomely grateful she'll help us hide."

Den snorted. "Wonder why she picked Romano, anyway?"

"Because he's the best-looking of all of us." England, his eyes on the twirling half-nation, answered this with a sigh. He was so bloody lucky. Couldn't wait to hold his lover in his arms again for the next waltz…

"Are you nuts?" The Viking laughed out loud. "I'm the best-looking of all of us."

Prussia shoved him. "You are not! I am. I'm the outstanding white hair, crimson eyes. Blue-eyed blonds are a dime a dozen, just like West. America. Canada…need I say more?"

"Shut up, you conceited freak." Den shoved him back.

The two of them continued to argue about this, not quite getting into a shouting match, until England said quietly, "Austria's coming." Immediately they stopped, scurried behind a pillar, and gave each other pecks on the cheek with a little laugh.

"Where is he?" the albino asked, coming back from the hiding place.

"Pfft. No idea. I just wanted you bickering wankers to shut it."

"England, you're a dick," Den laughed. "Anybody want coffee?" He turned towards the tables.

"No, thanks. But you get some, if you like, sweetie." Prussia waggled his fingers in a coy little wave.

Denmark strode off, and the other two watched as the dance came to an end. Romano bowed once more to the lady, and she tittered behind her hand before curtseying and moving off into the glittering crowd.

When the brunet got back to them, Den suddenly reappeared with his coffee. "How was it?" he asked Romano with a grin.

"Poor lady. She just wanted to dance, you know? It must suck to be here without a date." He plucked the coffee cup from the Viking's hands and sipped from it. "Thanks, bastard." Both Prussia and England grinned at the expression on Den's face, but then Romano nearly spit the coffee. "Fuck!" He gestured with the cup. "Is that the potato bastard?"

All of them whipped around to see a tall blond in uniform facing away from them, gazing slightly downward. "I bet he's talking to your brother, kesesese! Let's sneak off." Prussia led the way and they tiptoed through the party guests to arrive back at their starting point.

"Whew. That was close." England took the cup from Romano and drained the last of it, handing it back to Den when empty.

"Actually, it wasn't close at all," the Viking announced, scowling as he peeked into the empty cup. "That's not Germany."

Hesitantly they all looked and saw that it was indeed not Germany. "Shit, this is going to be hideous, running away from him all night," Romano grumbled.

"Don't worry! You're forgetting my awesome strategic expertise."

Den knocked the cup against Prussia's skull. "Pfft. Shut up. You're the one who got us into this mess." He gave it to a passing server. "Come on, let's walk around. I'm tired of hiding in this stupid corner."

"Bastard, we can't! What if they see us?" Romano's voice was a panicked hiss.

Denmark stood before them like a professor, wagging a finger. "Look, boys. Don't be stupid. Austria told us to stay on the edges of the dance, right?" He waited for their confused nods before continuing. "So, he thinks we'll be over here all night. If there is some kind of problem with Germany, this is the first place Austria will look! If we're on the move, he'll find it harder to pin us down. Got it?"

Prussia's jaw had dropped. "Wow, Den. You're almost as strategic as I am!"

"Yeah, yeah." The tall blond flicked him in the forehead and moved off slowly through the crowds, with the others close behind. England took Romano's hand, just to make up for the loss of time during the dance, and they smiled softly at each other. Yes, indeed. Romano was definitely the best-looking of all of them. The island nation beamed.

They wandered for a little while, always keeping an eye out for predators, but not seeing any. "I love this building," Romano sighed, running his free hand over a gilded pillar. "It's very elegant."

"Hey! It's Germany, I think," Denmark warned with a point. The four of them scattered silently to get out of the range of his vision.

Somehow Prussia and Romano ended up together on the side of the room. "Dammit. You're going to kill us one of these days, albino potato." But he was laughing.

"Kesesese! I know. Sorry. Where are Arthur and Den?" The two of them strained to find their friends, but couldn't. "Well, how about a dance, since we're way over here in the corner?"

"Hah. Well, all right. Just one dance. And none of your stupid shit!"

"Romano, I would never –"

"Just shut up and dance."

They shut up. They danced. Prussia smiled inanely at his friend, and Romano fought not to roll his eyes. It was bad enough that he had to dance with the bastard, but worse yet, Prussia was leading!

By the end of the dance, both Denmark and England had circled around to find them. "Now that's what I like to see," the island nation snarked as the other two ended their dance. "Peace and harmony shit."

"I hate you." Romano punched him with a smile.

"Don't hate me! Hate Gilbert – because I see Austria storming over this way."

"Fuck. Hurry!" Romano called out, snaking past partygoers into an empty hallway. The others automatically ran after him and he ushered them all into a broom closet.

"What are we doing in here?" England asked calmly, once the door was shut.

Prussia laughed and patted him on the head as best he could in this cramped space. "Hiding from Austria, kesesese! Right? Am I right?"

"Yes, you dumbass. I refuse to get thrown out of an event like this one, just because you were brain-dead about tickets. My reputation is already in the toilet from being friends with you. I don't want it to be any worse."

"Romano, that's so mean!" In the dark they could all hear a loud kiss.

"Dammit!"

"Everybody shut up." Den tried to turn around. "Why are we in the closet, though? This is pretty stupid."

"I agree; this is bloody childish." England opened the closet door and stepped out. "Anyone coming with me?"

Prussia and the Viking exited immediately, and the three of them turned back to their friend. "Dammit. All right. Just – just – whatever!" Romano threw his arms up in defeat.

"Let's just walk. He probably won't make a scene, you realize." Den took Prussia's arm and led them back to the main floor. "Man, my feet hurt already. I don't wear these shoes often." He waggled a foot as he glanced up at the boxes. "It might almost be worth putting up with Germany's lecturing, just to get some seats for a while."

"No" and "No!" from Prussia and Romano. England merely shrugged.

"You two are a couple of selfish babies," Den snarled. "Maybe I'll just go find the box myself."

"Don't go, Den. Please. Don't leave me here with these whiny gits!"

"Pfft. Oh, all right. Well, if I keep moving, my feet should feel all right. T. K., do you want –"

But before he could ask his boyfriend to dance, England interrupted. "Your lady's headed this way, Romano."

"Shit! I didn't mind one damn dance, but I don't want to be dancing with her all night long! Hide me!" He ducked behind Den, who pulled him around front again and, smiling, swept him into the dance. They waltzed away, Romano red-faced but laughing with relief. "Thanks."

"No problem. Hey, when you and England dance, who leads?"

"Pfft. We take turns. Tonight it's my turn." He smirked.

"That's nice. Prussia always tries to lead, and I always have to stop him."

"You're kidding. No, you're not, are you? That's so completely him."

"I know. It gets tiresome once in a while. When you danced with him just now, who led?"

"He did," Romano admitted sourly.

"Ha ha! No wonder he wanted to dance with someone else! Just to get the chance to lead." They peeked back at their friends.

By the wall, the two stood laughing and waving. "Well, Arthur? May I have this dance?" Prussia bowed to him.

"Of course, my dear Gilbert." England matched his bow, and they swept comically into a waltz, holding each other and clowning around a little, since they were hidden by most of the people there.

"Hsst!"

"What was that?" Prussia asked, sweeping England around dramatically.

"No idea." They checked and saw Romano scowling at them.

"Kesesese!" Just to goad him, Prussia dipped England down and kissed him.

"Gilbert, stop! You're hurting my back!" The blond struggled upright. "Just dance."

So they danced slightly more sedately, while Romano and Denmark kept struggling over who would lead, and the brunet continued to hiss at them to behave themselves. "Man, he is _so uptight,_" Prussia laughed, spinning his friend. "How can you stand it?"

"Because he's only like that around you, wanker!" England pinched his cheek and they burst into giggles, giving up the dance and collapsing against the wall together.

Den and Romano scooted back when the music was done. "You dumb bastards. Why must you act like children at this thing?" The brunet put his hands on his hips like an angry housewife. "It's so fucking embarrassing."

"Oh, calm down. Nobody could see us!" Prussia poked the half-nation.

"I could, stupid! And if I could, so could a lot of other people."

"They didn't seem to mind." England put his arm around Romano and squeezed, trying to calm him down. "You looked good out there."

"Bullshit. Den's too tall for me to dance with properly." Romano smirked up at his friend. "But thanks for the rescue. At least I didn't have to dance with the albino potato again."

"No problem. Now what?"

"More coffee, I think." Prussia patted Romano on the head and got his hand smacked. "Ow."

"What the fuck do you expect when you pat me on the head like a fucking puppy? Come on and let's go get some coffee."

Halfway there England spotted a familiar dark head and yelped, pointing, "Austria! For real this time!"

All four of them hunched over and dodged behind other party guests to get out of sight. Someone stepped on Romano's toes, and he stifled a curse, but they eventually made it to the coffee table, where they tried to remain in hiding, get drinks, and also scan the room, which was an impossible combination. Den stood up first and hid behind a pillar. "Coast is clear. Which way was he heading?"

England straightened up and pointed. "Away from here."

Romano finally stood up and bumped the table with his ass, spilling an abandoned cup of punch down the back of his pants. "Dammit!"

"Dammit what?" Prussia turned to look.

"My _pants!_" He grabbed a napkin and began blotting; England did too, patting him carefully.

"Don't worry, Romano! That's the joy of black clothing! It doesn't show the stains." Prussia nodded like a sage as he watched his friends take napkin after napkin to clean up the tuxedo trousers.

"You're an idiot." This halfhearted grumble was the best the Italian could do, preoccupied as he was.

"Hah, you got that right." Den finally turned from Austria-spotting and blinked. "What are you two doing?"

"Kesesese! You missed the show. It's all over now."

Romano threw his napkins back on the table. "This is a miserable night already. Running around, spilling shit on my pants…"

"Oh, come on, Romano, this is awesomely fun. A little ducking around won't hurt us, and your pants will be all right after a cleaning. We're still having fun! Come dance with me again." Prussia grabbed him by the arm.

"Bastard, my _ass_ is _soaked._ Forget the damn dance! I want my coffee."

"All right, all right. Dance later."

_"Maybe."_

Denmark had finished pouring the coffee, and they each sipped, eyes wary for Austria (or Germany). England turned back to set down his empty cup and accidentally jostled Prussia's elbow. "Shit! Arthur! Now you spilled coffee all over my tux!" The albino slammed his cup onto the table. "Crap. My military ribbons are all wet." He grabbed a napkin and began blotting at them, then scrubbing, but the damage had been done. "I'm going to have to go rinse them, or they'll stain. Help me get these off, will you?"

He and his friends fumbled at the little ribbon-covered bars until all sixteen were cradled lovingly in Prussia's hand. "Where's the bathroom?" England asked. "I'll go help." Den pointed, and the two of them stepped away; someone else bumped them, and the military decorations went flying all over that part of the room. "Bugger!"

All four of them fell to the floor and scrambled to pick up the tiny ribbons. "I am not happy about this," the albino announced as he scooped them into his cupped hand.

Romano shoved him, nearly spilling the ribbons again. "You think _we're_ happy, stupid? First, my ass, now my fucking knees are getting all dirty!"

"Mine are getting sore," Den snorted. "I think this is the last one." He handed it to his irate boyfriend.

"Fine. Arthur, get off that floor and come with me. I'm making you do all the work."

"Fine, wanker. Whatever." The two of them trudged off towards the men's room.

Romano and Den watched them go, dusting off their knees. "This is a _really _sucky evening, bastard. I was a little doubtful before, but this has set the seal on it. The albino potato has fucked things up once again."

"No kidding," Denmark hissed, grabbing him and yanking him behind a pillar. "There's Germany."

But again it was not the potato bastard who went by. "Is that guy his fucking double or something? Shit. M-maybe we should just blow, when those bastards get back. Go to the damn casino or something."

"It's still early, though," Den pointed out, checking his watch. "Not yet midnight. Plus you know how Prussia's going to gloat if we end up at the casino."

"I don't even care! I can't stand all this damn sneaking around." He peeked out again and squealed as he felt a tap on his shoulder. "Aah! You scared me," he panted to England. "Thought you were the macho potato."

"Hah." The island nation gathered him into a soothing embrace. "Just relax, little one. It will be over soon."

"Where's Prussia?"

"Still in the men's room, pinning them back on. They're soaking wet with water now, but at least they're clean." England laughed. "He didn't want me to help, in case I screwed something up again."

"Idiot," Romano murmured fondly, resting against him.

The albino came bustling up, clean and dripping a little. "Hey, why are you just standing out here in the open? There's Austria!"

In a group they scooted behind a clump of partygoers. "Dammit, get me out of here," Romano demanded. "I have had _enough."_

"Just one more dance?" England asked him sweetly. "If we go to the other side of the dance floor, near where we started, we should be able to hide, and if they come after us, we're closer to the door that way."

The others nodded. "Yeah. I – I'm sorry, you guys. I guess I wasn't such a good strategic planner after all." Prussia sighed, and Den took pity on him, putting an arm around his shoulders.

"Don't sweat it, T. K. Let's go over where England said, and we'll have our last dance and go." He turned to lead the group away and accidentally stepped on someone's foot. "Oh! Sorry."

The woman he'd stepped on was petite and had dainty strappy heels on; she must have taken his full weight on her bare toes. She clenched her teeth and growled, hopping on one foot. Her escort, a short, balding man, turned to Denmark belligerently. "You are a clumsy oaf!" he stated in a thick Austrian accent, making Prussia snicker.

"Hey, it was an accident, all right? It's crowded in here. Anyway, I said I was sorry." The Viking tried to push past, but the man reached out and grabbed his sleeve. "Let go!"

"Listen, you –" Without finishing his sentence, the man drew back and punched Denmark in the nose; the Nordic nation shoved him away and knocked him into someone else.

"Oh, shit," Romano moaned unnecessarily. "Run for it, Den!" He broke out of England's grip and pelted for the front door.

Against all his fighting instincts, Denmark knew his friend was right. He elbowed the guy in the gut, just for the fun of it, and ran after Prussia and England. Those two laughed and whooped as they did a type of genteel parkour between people, high-fiving each other over the heads of the other guests.

"_Scheisse, _there's _Austria_~," he heard Prussia sing out, and they put on a burst of speed, erupting out the door of the Opera House with laughter, except for Romano, who was still panicking.

"Dammit," he wheezed, hiding behind a pillar. "What a fucking _night._"

"I have to go back in for my hat and cane."

"Leave them, stupid. You'll get an earful of shit from Austria if you go back in. They're beyond repair anyway."

"But that's littering. Besides, I want them as a memento of this awesome evening."

"Forget it, I said!" Romano, back on form, kicked Prussia in the shin.

England sighed. "I'll go. Austria might not yell at me, since I wasn't beating people up." He gave Denmark a meaningful glare; the Viking ignored it.

The three friends stood outside, getting their wind back and watching him walk back inside. None of them noticed the two nations in casual clothing slouching up towards them on the sidewalk.

"Ve! Hi, guys."

"Huh?" Prussia said, turning to his brother and Veneziano, baffled by their outfits. "I thought you two were at the ball?"

"We were going to go. Germany even bought a box! But this afternoon we decided to go to the casino instead. I won ten thousand Euros at blackjack, ve!"

"Dammit! You _fucking_ – _albino_ – _bastard!"_

…

_You know they're going to pound him to a pulp._


	75. Art Contest I

**Art Contest I.**

Romano lay under the tree, plucking grass absently with his right hand, trying to close his ears against the nonstop albino babbling. Why the hell had he even come out here today? He was still pissed at the bastard about that Opera Ball bullshit. Denmark had telephoned later and boasted of having beaten Prussia senseless, but the Italian hadn't believed him, because he could hear the stupid happy "kesesese"-ing in the background during the phone call. Still, it wasn't as if he had anything better to do. England was off helping China with something, and Romano hadn't felt like jaunting halfway around the world just to watch those two tea-drinking bastards goofing off. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Blab, blab, blab," he interrupted.

"Shut up." Prussia threw his empty coffee cup, but it failed to reach Romano, who kicked it aside.

"Moron. Why are we hanging around here? Let's go do something. Come on, Den, think of something!"

"Why do I have to think of something? I thought _you_ were the brains of this outfit." Poke.

Swat. "I am." Romano snorted. "Just don't feel like thinking, right now."

"Why don't we go play paintball?" Prussia suggested.

Nobody answered him; Den continued to sip coffee, and Romano to pluck grass and fling it away.

"Kesesese! I know. Let's go to the mall and buy some new clothes." The albino glanced down at his old t-shirt and torn jean shorts. "My wardrobe is crap."

"You owe me sixteen thousand Euros," the half-nation countered lazily, closing his eyes and resting his clasped hands on his stomach. "After you pay me back, we can talk about getting you a new fucking wardrobe."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"That's how much the tickets were," Den yawned. "To the Opera Ball. Romano and I decided we're not going to listen to any of your suggestions until you reimburse us for our troubles that night."

"And," Romano put in, before Prussia could come back with some smartass (_dumbass)_ response, "maybe for England, too. So, forty-eight thousand Euros between him, Den and me."

Prussia groaned, squeezing his skull in his hands. "That's such bullshit. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?"

"Germany?" Den's suggestion met with a general laugh.

"Hah, he won't even give me money to get my tux dry-cleaned! It still has coffee all over it from where Arthur spilled it on me."

"Serves you right, moron. You ought to pay for my dry cleaning, too, to get the punch off my pants." Romano yawned, too. "Listen, if we stay here I'm going to fall asleep. Let's go walk somewhere."

"Okay." Den jumped up and extended a hand to him, and they headed off without even waiting for their friend.

"Hey. Hey!" Prussia scrambled off the ground and ran after them. "Sheesh, you two are acting like a couple of teenaged girls, giving me the silent treatment. Stop it. It's not cool at all." He poked them both.

"Whatever." Romano jerked his chin down the busy main street. "Let's go this way for a change." Despite his lingering anger at Prussia, he was kind of having fun with all this. It was very surprising to see the albino potato meekly taking all these insults.

"I have an idea." Den turned and grinned down at them both. "Let's have a contest."

"What? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Kesesese! Whatever it is, I bet I'll win."

How could this dumb bastard be so fucking optimistic all the time? So full of himself, and with no good reason. "Bullshit. You'll _lose_."

Denmark began to laugh. "You bozos don't even know what kind of contest I'm talking about. What if it's dressing up in costumes and singing?"

"Pfft. Did that, remember?" Romano's eyes grew misty as he remembered the Austrian talent show night. They'd been so damn amazing –

"Okay, then, Mister Badass Viking, what kind of awesome contest are you talking about? Fighting?" Prussia bared his teeth in an eager grin, and wiggled his eyebrows.

"No. That'd be idiotic. I'd win."

"Both of you shut up! I want to hear what Den is talking about." Romano flicked Prussia on the ear.

"Ow. Okay, talk, Den, talk."

"Well, here's what I'm thinking. Our next meeting is in Finland, right? I'll talk him into hosting an art competition between all the nations. So, yeah, we'd be competing with everybody else to win, but we could also privately compete with each other."

"Make a bet, then," Romano mused. He wasn't worried! He had excellent art talents. "But can you really talk Finland into that?" He cut his eyes to the albino potato, who looked distinctly nervous. Hah!

"Sure. Fin likes to do group things like that."

"Are you any good at art?" The brunet realized he had no idea at all.

"Of course I am!" Den elbowed him and they laughed together.

Prussia still hadn't spoken, and seemed to be concentrating intently. "Okay," he finally said. "What does the winner get?"

"Forty-eight thousand Euros," Romano and Den said in chorus, before laughing and linking their arms together.

_"Scheisse!_ You two really annoy me sometimes."

"Don't go there, albino potato. You really do not want to go there."

Prussia sighed. "I'll take that bet, _if_ you can make Finland offer a cash prize."

They stared at him. "Fin's not going to give you 48,000 Euros!"

"He's not going to give Prussia anything, bastard, because I'm going to win!"

"No, I am!"

"I am, moron!"

"Both of you shut up!" the Viking bellowed, cracking their skulls together.

"Ow."

"Yeah."

"We weren't serious about the 48,000 Euros," Denmark then pointed out. "I don't want to end up paying _you_ that, if you should happen to win."

"He won't win," Romano muttered, but low enough that they could ignore it.

"Well, then? What's the awesome prize?"

"Don't know yet. Let's walk and think. We can come up with something later on. After I talk to Finland."

"Sounds like a plan to me, manipulative bastard."

"Kesesese! Yeah, I can live with that, too."

…

_So…ever have an idea for a Skirmish Brothers adventure? Now's your chance to push them into _your_ vision! I've been thinking about these boys lately and feeling that I want to do something for you, the fans, as well as for them. Therefore, I'm going to run a contest. All you need to do to win is to create an SB-themed artwork and upload it to deviantArt with the tag "sb-contest-2014" (no quotes). Draw (or paint or papercraft or cosplay or whatever) a scene that you'd like to see as part of a chapter. You can enter as many times as you like._

_Winner of the contest will have the scene from their artwork incorporated into a new adventure arc (I say 'arc' rather than 'chapter' because you know how much trouble I have keeping their adventures to only one chapter); the winner will be announced on my FFnet profile, as well as having your artwork featured on my dA home page. Everyone who submits an artwork will be thanked in the author's note of the prize chapter._

_The contest will run until the 1st of September 2014. This gives you a good amount of time to come up with something to submit! September 1 is roughly the anniversary of the Kissing Lessons._

_Winners will be judged on a couple of things:_

_Is it believable that the boys would do this? For example, an artwork of Romano and Den in Gilbird costumes, doing an operatic ballet while Prussia films them, is probably not something that would occur in a regular chapter. (On the other hand, if Prussia and England were standing by with liquor, then maybe...)_

_Interesting use of art media. Please explain in your description how you created it._

_Technical merit. This is a minor consideration, since I'm no critic, and since it will be difficult for me to balance out (say) MMD artworks against hand-drawn and hand-colored ones._

_Small bonus points for including decorative elements from existing chapters (Legos, Romano's underwear, etc.)_

_It is entirely possible that (a) every artwork submitted will be awesome, or (b) there won't be too many submissions. In those cases maybe I'll write up every single adventure that was submitted!_

_Please use your inspiration to help me come up with some new adventures. Thank you all!_

_(Somewhere between now and September 1 I'll add more to this particular arc.)_


	76. Art Contest II

**Art Contest II.**

England scowled at the canvas before him. He'd like to wring bloody Finland's neck! An art competition? Bugger. He hated this kind of shite. All his art talent came from pilfering other nations' styles over the centuries. He was completely unsure about this.

Well, he knew he'd never win it, so he wasn't going to try too hard. It'd be difficult to accomplish anything with that blasted self-satisfied humming coming from across the room.

…

Near the window, his back to the island nation, Romano sat at a table humming, with a watercolor pad and his palette beside him, ideas flowing through his Renaissance brain like cool, fizzy water. He'd suggested to England that they work on their art entries at the same time; this way they could be together, and maybe lend some support to each other. Combining England time with art time was almost as pleasant a prospect as Romano could think of. Maybe if he had some tomatoes, it would be even better! "Hey, bastard."

"What?"

"Do you have any tomatoes?" He laughed a little.

"No, I do not have any bloody tomatoes! Why? Going to paint a still-life?" He turned to look at his friend.

"Nope. Stop asking about what I'm going to do. Just paint."

England growled at him. "I don't know what to paint. I don't even know if I want to paint. Does it have to be a painting?"

Romano stopped and sucked on the back end of his paintbrush as he thought. "No. Just 'art.'"

"Right. Maybe I'll do a finger painting."

"Bastard, you're not taking this seriously enough!"

England got up and walked over to him, bending down to hold him. "Listen, git. I don't want to do it and I have no hope of winning any sort of competition. I just want to wallop something onto the canvas and then go do something fun with you. Come on. Just swish some color around on there, and let's go outside for a while."

"What?" Romano was completely taken aback. "No! I have to do this. _You_ may not feel confident in your art, but I stand a pretty damn good chance of winning, if I can do something right." Damn right he did. He had to beat those dumb bastards Prussia and Den, too. _Had_ to!

England sighed and let go of him. "Fine. I'm going to go out for a walk. I hope you get good inspiration." He ruffled Romano's hair, giving him a quick kiss, and was out the door before the brunet could say anything.

Well, he had time to work, so he would work!

…

Denmark sat in his living room, using tweezers to assemble his art project. He knew no one else would think of something like this. It had been his fun with Legos that had made him think of it, but using rye grains to build a map of Europe was definitely more challenging, and more artistic. He laughed a bit as he imagined some dorky sloppy painting that Prussia would do, and how this rye art would blow everyone away.

…

Prussia was the most awesome artist in the world. He knew this, even if Finland didn't. But he wasn't going to exert himself too much for this contest. After all, he didn't care if he won the whole competition. He just needed to beat Den and Romano.

That was a little worrying. Oh, not the Denmark part. Pfft. Den would probably make a giant Lego robot or something. But Romano –

The albino had been to Italy quite often over the centuries, and he knew full well the skill that Romano (and his brother) would bring to this contest. That was the whole problem. Gah. Why had Den suggested an art contest? Romano was likely to blow them both out of the water and win the grand prize! And if he didn't, his brother might. Denmark should have suggested hunting, or something. Prussia knew he could bag some big game, certainly more effectively than Romano could!

Still, he only had to beat Den, right? As long as he didn't come in dead last, it was all good.

Well, there was still plenty of time to work on a project. Prussia decided to go to the water park with West and forget about the whole competition for now. He could use the time to think about some type of artwork, while they played. "Come on, West, shake a tail feather! It's an awesome day."

"I know," came the amused voice from the kitchen. "Just let me finish my coffee." In a moment his brother emerged and the two of them headed for the water park. The stupid art project could wait.

…

_Not getting a lot of love for the contest yet. One review and one comment on my dA journal post, both from two longtime readers who aren't visual artists! But thanks, Orithyea and Sora-Chan222. If nobody bothers to enter, you two can each submit an idea to me in a PM and I'll write it for you. _


	77. What if they had an art contest and

**What if they had an art contest and nobody entered?**

"Well, this sucks!" Finland yelled, toying with a Molotov cocktail.

Denmark eyed it warily. "Will you put that damn thing away? Nobody wants you blowing up the meeting hall!"

Sweden nodded and took it from his hand, putting it in a safe place.

"Where is everyone?" Prussia then asked, with a quiet "kesesese" tacked on the end.

"Th't's the pr'blem."

God, Romano was beyond pissed off already, and it was only Monday morning at eight, the start of the whole damn week of meeting shit. "What's the fucking problem, bastard?" Dammit, would they just get on with it? He was so angry, because England had decided not to attend, since he hadn't been able to come up with anything artistic. He'd felt too embarrassed, apparently, to show up empty-handed.

In fact this whole room was suspiciously empty! Other than Finland, Sweden, and the other two bastards, only the quivering Latvia and the stupid potato bastard were here.

"Nobody else is coming!" Finland whined. "Everyone called in sick!"

"Everyone?" Prussia turned in his chair and checked out the room. "Awesome! We don't really need to have a meeting, then, right?" He rose and gathered up his things.

"Sit down, Prussia," Germany said wearily. "We still have business to conduct."

"_Scheisse," _the albino potato moaned, head in hands. Then he sat up cheerfully. "So I guess the art contest is off, then?"

Romano smirked. He knew he'd win, anyway. But – but if these, uh, seven people were the only ones who'd submitted art, then…?

"No." Finland gestured towards a side door. "Although I did not get many submissions for the contest, I did set everything up in the next room, like a little gallery. Why don't we all go look at them before we start on the meeting?"

Sweden nodded again and led the way.

Just outside the "gallery" door, Den turned to his friends with a big, big grin. "Double or nothing?" he asked.

"Stupid! We didn't decide what we were betting in the first place!" Romano kicked him in the ankle.

"Ow. Stop that. Uh, I thought it was 48,000 Euros?"

"Den, you know none of us have that kind of cash." Sheepishly Prussia stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Hah. Guess he knew his art would suck. "How about 48 Euros?" Romano offered. "Manageable."

"Double or nothing is 96, though. Can you afford 96 Euros, Prussia?"

He turned to the macho potato. "Hey West, can I have 96 Euros?"

With a sigh Germany ran a hand over his severe hairstyle. "Yes, Prussia, you can have 96 Euros."

"Each, bastard. _Each._"

"You guys are horrible!" Prussia shoved Romano, who shoved back, and they scuffled a bit before Den grabbed Prussia's collar and Sweden grabbed Romano's. "Sheesh."

"Shut up and get in the room," Den barked out, shoving Prussia ahead of him.

Finland was already inside waiting impatiently. "Well? Come in!"

They all walked in, even little Latvia, cowering at the back of the group. "Where's all the art?" he piped up.

"We put it in the far corner since there was so little of it."

Denmark practically danced over there, but Romano and Prussia followed the crowd more sedately. "What's up with you anyway?" the brunet hissed. "Afraid you're going to lose?"

"Yes. I didn't submit anything. Couldn't think of a damn thing."

Romano burst out laughing. "Ninety-six Euros, bastard!" He held a hand out.

"Forget it! Den might win!"

"Well, if he does, he's not letting you off the hook." They finally caught up with everyone else and viewed the submitted artworks. "Only four things?"

Sweden cleared his throat delicately. "Fin 'n' I didn't think we sh'd submit 'nything."

"Awesome!" Denmark yelled, turning to bare his teeth at his friends.

"Hah. Look at them first, you moron."

So they looked.

First, a paint-by-numbers picture of the Gedächtniskirche, done by the potato bastard in sloppy acrylics. Pfft.

Second, Romano's beautiful watercolor of the sunset over Dartmoor. He was so pissed at England for not being here to see it! He'd sketched it during their failed camping trip all those years ago, and had always held the memory of that lovely place in his mind. This painting was large and glowing with rich color and the love he'd put into it. And the stupid, stupid idiot (adorable though he was) wasn't here to see it! Dammit. Well, it had to rank higher than Denmark's – Denmark's – "Uh, what the fuck is that, bastard?"

Everyone bent over a large table with some kind of sculpture on it. "Ta-da! It's a map of Europe, made with rye grains. I laid them all in place by tweezers." The Dane beamed proudly upon his creation…

…for about four seconds, until both Prussia and Romano burst into laughter. Even the potato bastard cracked a smile! "Den, that is just idiotic," the albino potato managed to wheeze.

Romano, bent over and peering at it, pointed out, "I notice he didn't make Prussia a separate country," which made Germany laugh and clap his now-peeved brother on the back.

"Thought 't w's kind 'f int'resting," Sweden told them all, fluorescent light glinting on his glasses.

"You're kidding. You're _kidding!_ This dumb bastard's rye toast map gets the prize?" Romano slid from hysterical to furious in one easy step, punching Denmark in the (very solid) bicep. "You have _got to be kidding!" _He felt himself hyperventilating. Dammit!

"No, no." Finland hastily tried to placate him. "Calm down. Denmark's map is cute but we didn't give it the prize. First prize goes to Latvia's beautiful flower arrangement!"

Everyone turned to view the blushing Baltic nation's entry, a cheap milk glass vase with a few limp daisies in it. "Th-thank you," he stuttered, reaching out to take the prize from Finland.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Romano exploded. "I can't believe this! Come on, you two; it may be early but it's five o'clock somewhere. I've got to get drunk. This is insane. _Insane!_" he yelled right into Sweden's face. Then he stormed out of the gallery, a disappointed Germany slouching behind him.

"Wait." Prussia stopped Denmark from following. "What was the prize, Latvia?"

The trembling nation looked at the paper in his hands. "A check for forty-eight thousand Euros!"

…

_Yeah, well. Nobody entered my contest. If Orithyea and Sora-Chan222 want to each PM me with an idea, I'll write it and publish it, but after that, these boys are definitely done. Thanks for sticking with them all these years._


	78. or not

…**or not.**

"Actually, that is just a joke!" Finland gently plucked the fluttering check from Latvia's hand and passed it to his boyfriend.

"Whaaat?" the other three chorused. Sweden cracked a smile at that.

The host nation then picked up a box of something from the table. "Here is the real prize, Latvia. A box of Finnish chocolate."

Latvia, face burning, took the box. "Th-thank you?" he quavered, not meeting anyone's eyes.

Sweden lay a hand protectively on his shoulder. "Thank _you,_" he stated clearly.

The little nation just took the box and left the room. At the door he turned back to the stunned Prussia and Denmark, who were still speechless. "Are we h-having a meeting today?"

Finland laughed. "Let's call it off for today. Be back tomorrow at eight, though!" He kept laughing until Den clocked him on the side of the head. "Ouch! _Denmark!"_

"What the hell is going on here?" he asked, dumbfounded, rubbing his knuckles. What the hell _was_ going on?

"Uh...yeah?" Prussia added weakly. "I think I missed something."

"Ah, Prussia, you are not thinking straight!" Fin waggled a finger playfully in front of the albino's face while the rest of them stood around. "Who asked me to have an art contest?"

"Well, Den did, I guess. At least he said he would." The baffled Prussia scratched his head.

"Yes, he did. And he also told me you would be betting on the outcome."

"Denmark! You cheating _bastard!_" Prussia turned to him and began to pummel him; not expecting this, it took the blond several seconds to retaliate, and by then he'd taken quite a few hits. "How could you cheat like that? Wait until Romano hears – _ow!_" This as Den landed a punch right on his nose. "Ow…" He immediately stopped fighting and backed off, straightening his uniform jacket.

"Anyway," Finland went on airily, as if none of that had happened, "Sweden and I immediately decided that none of you would win, no matter how good the art was!"

"Pfft. Romano's was the best," Prussia muttered sulkily. "Not that rye grain shit." Den shoved him, but he ignored that.

"I agree. But we're trying to teach Denmark to stop betting!"

Den blinked. "_What?"_ Suddenly the whole ridiculous situation got through to him. "You and Sve are a couple of meddling, high-handed, annoying – "

"Who pushed us into an art contest, Denmark? Who was pushy and high-handed? Who told us about the 48,000 Euros?" Fin grinned at him and backed away a little. "We were just having some fun!"

"So does this mean Romano gets the check?" Prussia cut his eyes to it, where it now lay on the table with the rye grain map.

"'S a fake check. J'st typed t'look like one."

"So…Romano should get the _candy_?" Den didn't know whether to beat the shit out of Fin (risky, with Sve standing right there) or laugh.

"There will be a special prize waiting for Romano in his hotel room."

Prussia and Den eyed each other evilly. "Kesesese! Let's not tell him. Let's go out with him all day and see what happens when he gets back to his room."

"Sounds good to me." Differences forgotten, the two of them linked arms and sauntered from the room. At the door, Den turned back. "You two really are a couple of interfering bastards." But Finland's high, tinkling laughter followed them all the way out the door.

…

Outside the hotel Romano stood tapping his foot and scowling. "What took you idiots so long? I saw the potato bastard and Latvia leaving. Does that mean no meeting?"

"No meeting," Prussia agreed, hugging him. "Your art was the best, Romano. Way better than Den's map."

He reached up and ruffled the white hair. "Pfft. I agree. Thanks, albino potato."

"You still lost, though, Prussia," Den pointed out. "Since you didn't enter."

"That's okay. I'll get the cash from West later on."

Romano hit him. "Forget it, you stupid idiot. It's pointless if you're just taking money from him. It's supposed to be a _sacrifice."_

"Never mind all that. Are we going to get drunk? Kesesese! That'd be awesome. It's not even nine in the morning yet!"

"Ah, I was just irritated when I said that. I can't believe that little bastard got the prize."

"Well, it was better than Germany's painting!" Denmark laughed and laughed. "That was the weakest painting I ever saw."

"At least the macho potato entered the contest." Yes, Romano was still steamed about the lack of England this week.

But Prussia thought this was a dig at him. "Hey, look. I just happen to suck at art, okay? Next time let me pick the bet, not Rye Boy."

"Pfft. No food nicknames, and nothing with 'boy,'" Den laughed. "But all right. Next time you can pick the bet."

"Bullshit! The moron will pick paintball, or some other shit I'm not any good at. I get to pick."

"Maybe we should enlist the services of a neutral party. Arthur would do it, I bet."

"Forget that!" Romano explained how pissed off he was about that. "I am so angry with that loser."

"Oh, forget it, everyone just forget everything we ever talked about, and start with a blank slate. Okay?" Den put his arms around his friends. "Today started out shitty. Let's get some coffee and make it better."

"Deal," the other two muttered.

…

The three of them spent the day wandering around Helsinki, shopping, eating, arguing, and generally complaining about their fellow nations, which was, after all, what the three of them did best.

Eventually Romano got tired. "I'm going back to the hotel," he said wearily. "My feet hurt. I want a hot bath and _bed._ Especially since we have to do meeting shit tomorrow."

Prussia and Denmark grinned at each other, wondering what Finland's "special surprise" would be. "Sounds good," the albino said calmly. "We'll go with you. I'm kind of tired too."

"Hard to believe." But this was said without Romano's usual venom. He must be really beat.

After exiting the hotel elevator, the three of them plodded towards his room together. "What are you idiots doing, following me?" he snarled, as he pulled the keycard out and slid it into the door.

"Just want to make sure you get to your room safely," Denmark said soothingly. "Since England's not here to look after you, we have to do it."

Romano shoved the hotel room door open, snapping out, "Listen, I told you, England is a goddamn selfish bastard and I don't want to talk about him!"

"Eh?" they heard from the bed.

"Arthur?" The three of them scurried into the room to see Romano's striking watercolor, framed and hung over the bed, on which the island nation lay, naked except for a big red Christmas bow around his groin. "Kesesese!"

"Will you wankers get the bloody hell out of here!"

…

_Pfft. Thought of this last night while I couldn't sleep._


	79. Animal Attraction I

_So, this is a very hybrid idea. Part of it (the pet care) is Sora-Chan222's suggestion from the art contest. Part of it is an anagram of "skirmish dog cat." (The anagram will be given at the end of the arc.) If this sort of thing works out, I may keep writing SB chapters from time to time, with the help of the anagram generator. Otherwise, yes, all my stories are complete and I don't plan to start any new ones (in Hetalia or any other fandom). _

_Thanks for your support through the years!_

…

**Animal Attraction.**

"Erm, so, listen, you guys." Prussia scratched his head. "Come and stay over tonight. I have something for us to do tomorrow, but it will take all day." He was on a conference call with both Denmark and Romano. "But, ah, don't tell Arthur, okay, Romano? Just us?"

The brunet growled. "So I have to spend the whole night _and day_ tomorrow with you and not tell England? Why? Why can't he come with us?"

"Yeah, Prussia," Den said laconically.

"It's, hm, just going to be too crowded, that's all. We have to do some stuff for West. Not a big deal."

"Shit."

"Oh, shut up, Romano. Just deal with it. It's not like we have anything better to do," the Viking laughed. "But, T. K., you'd better make it worth our while."

"I will! I awesomely will. I have plenty of beer and cupcakes already, and I can get whatever Romano wants."

"Hah. Liquor. I want to drink myself senseless so I don't have to listen to you, or do your dumbass work shit."

"C'mon, Romano. You know you love him." Den laughed and laughed, and so did Prussia, listening to the muttered Italian grumbles on the line.

"So? Will you come over?" Prussia bounced up and down on the balls of his feet. "It's gonna be fun!"

"Wait, just wait, bastard. This business for the macho potato – is it _with_ him, or _for_ him?"

"Uh. Well, it's a job he usually has to do every other month. He and I take turns. But he has some municipal stuff to do in Berlin, so I said I'd take his turn this month. It's going to be great! I'll bring his camera. We can make videos!"

"Whatever. What time do you want us there?"

"Kesesese! You can come over anytime. He's at his computer, and I bet we won't see him tonight. He'll be grinding away on those idiotic spreadsheets all night. Then he'll get up at the crack of dawn to get to the meetings. Totally not a problem."

"Okay. Are you going, Den?"

"Might as well. Got nothing better to do."

"See you soon, then, albino potato."

"Awesome!"

…

The three friends had a lazy night, not too much fighting, not too much drinking. Prussia wouldn't tell them what the 'job' was until the next morning, though. "You're sure you didn't tell Arthur?"

"What the hell could I tell him? You haven't even told _me!_ Why? Is this some secret Germany-UK treaty bullshit?" Romano poured coffee and finished it all very quickly.

"No, no. West and I do volunteer work at a local pet shelter. West asked Arthur to help him once – oh, a long time ago, more than ten years ago – and it was apparently kind of weird." He frowned a bit.

Laughing, Denmark poked him. "Weird how? He too lazy to work?"

"No! Well, actually, I've no real idea. He just said 'Don't let England near the place.' So I won't."

"Whatever." But Romano was a little nervous. He _had_ told England he'd be hanging out with these bastards in Berlin, but since he hadn't known what the special job was, hadn't been able to spill the beans. He just hoped England would stay put on his cold, foggy island for the day, and not get him in trouble with Prussia – or the potato bastard! He bit his nails, ignoring the rye bread on the table.

"Kesesese! Eat up, my friends." The albino pushed a plate of hard-boiled eggs towards them. "It's a busy type of day."

"What kind of shelter?" Den stuffed an egg into his mouth after asking this.

"Mostly dogs, with some cats. It's very cool, right on the banks of the Spree River. There's a huge field where we play with them all day long." He beamed.

"That's it? Playing with dogs and cats?" Romano's mind was still on England and how the bastard might have fucked this up. "How weird could it be?"

Den ate another egg. "Hope there aren't a lot of pit bulls."

A shudder from the half-nation. "Don't even suggest that, bastard. When do we have to be there?"

Prussia checked the clock. "Ah, we really need to leave now. Here, Den, put the eggs into this bag, and we can finish them in the car." All three nations scrambled to get ready and leave.

…

"Wow, this is really a nice park." Denmark stretched, and Romano could have sworn the bastard was ten feet tall. Dammit, he was huge! He snickered a little and tried to punch him in the abs, but as usual, it was like hitting a slab of cement.

"Ow." He massaged his hand, laughing.

"Quit that, pipsqueak."

"Come over here!" Prussia flapped a hand, running towards the shelter. "We have to let them out, and then we can play with them." He and the shelter worker began opening dog cages.

"What are you doing?" Romano yelled. "You can't let cats and dogs out here together!" He ran over as fast as he could.

"Oh, it's not a problem," the worker said, mistaking his anxiety. "There's a fence all around the property."

"No, no, no!" He began to freak out. "What if the dogs start attacking the cats?" He stared piteously at a tiny ginger kitten all alone in a cage.

"Hah!" The albino potato slapped him on the back. "Not _these_ cats," he laughed. "These cats are tough."

Romano pointed to the kitten. "Look at that! How can you put a kitten like that up against a huge Rottweiler?"

"We don't have any Rottweilers at the shelter," the worker informed him.

Dammit, did everybody have to be so fucking pedantic? "I'll protect the kitten," he announced, reaching for it. With a few little peeping mews, it settled into his cupped palms before he raised it up onto his shoulder. Now purring, it settled down like a furry epaulet. "There. Stay calm, _quello piccolo,_" he murmured, reaching up to pet it. "I'll protect you from the nasty potato dogs."

At that, three dogs – of what breed he was unsure – bounded past him into the field. "Woohoo!" Prussia yelled, bounding after them, turning a few exuberant handsprings. "I love shelter work!"

Well, Romano had to laugh. He and Den each tried to herd a few more cats while the shelter lady left the rest of the excitable dogs out.

"I'll be back at four," she called out, locking the gate behind her. "Have fun!"

Prussia, now rolling around in the grass under a pile of barking dogs, didn't hear, but both the others did, and waved.

…

Romano loved cats, but this was nuts! Every time he sat down in the field, the seven or eight shelter cats came swarming towards him. Prussia, still romping with dogs, told him, "It's just because they're jealous of your kitten." The kitten had indeed stayed smugly perched on his shoulder all morning, occasionally meowing, but mostly just purring.

"Den, come get these cats off me," he called out, but his friend had the camera and was busy snapping photographs at the water's edge and didn't hear.

In a few minutes he came back to them. "This is an awesome place. Did you see all the herons and storks around here? Bizarre. I always thought they preferred marshland."

"Take a cat," Romano told him, trying to shoo a couple cats towards him.

So Den sat, and a cat or two came to investigate, but then they wandered back to Romano, climbing up on his knees, kneading their paws against his chest, and meowing constantly, perched around him in a circle. "Dammit," he muttered, trying to pet all of them at once. "I feel like some kind of human sacrifice!"

"Like a rock star with cat paparazzi," Den agreed with a grin.

The albino potato finally struggled out from under his enormous pile of dogs. "Hey, boys," he whistled, scrambling up and running towards the water. "Come over here and do your business!" The crowd of barking dogs ran after him, each one finding a tree to mark. Prussia, to keep in the spirit of things, unzipped his fly and pissed into the river.

"What an idiot," Romano groaned, still trying to be nice to all the cats.

"Yeah, but still. There's nobody like him in the world."

"Thank God for that!"

When they were all done peeing, Prussia brought the dogs back a little more sedately. "I did see the herons and storks. They hang out here all the time. It's almost like a nature preserve for marsh birds, but I don't know why. West is always coming down to take pictures of them, and he brings buckets of anchovies to feed them. After dogs, storks are his favorite animal." He flopped back on the grass and was almost immediately covered in a squirming, yelping canine pile again.

"I've got to see these dumbass birds." Romano stood up gently, dislodging all the cats except his shoulder accessory, and padded calmly towards the water. He didn't notice the parade of cats trailing behind him, but Den did, and hurriedly raised the camera to make a video.

"It's like the Pied Piper of Berlin," he laughed.

"Just so he doesn't lead them into the water! Or let them chase the birds! Kesesese! West would kill him if he ever found out."

"Those cats would have to be pretty stupid to take on a heron or a stork."

But the brunet and his squadron of cats marched back to them without wreaking any havoc on the masses of water birds. "That's a lot of storks, bastards." He flopped back down in the grass, carefully avoiding his feline escort.

"Hey, is it lunchtime yet?" Den asked, rummaging around in the backpack. "What do we have to eat?"

"Fuck," the albino said cheerfully. "Other than the eggs, which we ate, I forgot to bring anything. Everything in the backpack is dog food and cat treats."

At the words "dog food," all the dogs left him and went to swarm around Denmark, who stood up holding the backpack so he could keep fishing through it. "You didn't bring any real food at all?"

"Just the eggs!"

"Which we ate already. Dammit." Romano glanced upwards. "Hey, Den, throw me a pack of cat treats. Might as well feed these potato cats." Several of them seemed to give him reproachful looks at this comment. "Sorry, guys. Just a habit I have," he apologized, making his friends roar with laughter.

Denmark threw down a pack of treats to him. "Here you go. Prussia, what about the d-o-g f-o-o-d?"

But these were apparently very smart dogs, because they set up a crazed barking when he spelled that out. The albino rose and took the backpack from his boyfriend. "Come over here. We can feed them over on this side of the park and give the cats some peace."

"Take the goddamn cats with you!" Romano yelled after them, still sitting in a ring of them. Some were busy cleaning themselves, some napping, but most of them sat attentively watching him – or more likely watching the treats bag. "Okay, bastards. Here." He opened the bag and poured some treats into his hand, holding it out to the nearest cat, which turned up its nose disdainfully. "What? No go?" He reached his hand around to every cat in the circle – even the sleeping ones – and not one of them took a single treat from him. "Well, _piccolo_, guess these are all yours." He held the handful up to the kitten, who sniffed it and leaped down off his shoulder to go chase a butterfly.

Baffled, he absently shook the treats back into the bag and zipped it shut, scanning the park for the others. Ah. Prussia had led them off behind some trees. Good. He wanted to take another look at the marsh birds.

So Romano got up, now no longer a focus of the felines' attention, and sauntered over to the riverbank. All the herons and storks – and, dammit, there was a fucking _mess_ of them, maybe fifty – turned their heads to look at him. Dammit, that was creepy! He turned and fled, trying not to step on any cats as he ran, and checking over his shoulder to make sure no birds were following.

The cats all seemed to be hunting insects or something, so he found a quiet place facing the water (so no birds could sneak up on him) and sat to wait for his friends. Seconds later he was covered in cats again. By this point he figured it was some bizarre affinity between them – maybe they liked his pheromones or something (he snorted) – and this was the way things would be for the rest of the day. "Fine, _gatti_," he said softly. "Let's just all be calm together." This wasn't the way he'd have planned a stay at the shelter, but at least he wasn't dealing with the damn noisy dogs!

On the other side of the park, Den realized they had no dishes for the dog food. "Ah, don't worry about it. Just dump it all into a pile and let them fight for it. They're all big dogs, and they can awesomely look after themselves!" Prussia laughed, patting some of them.

"That sounds risky. What if they start attacking each other?" All the dogs sat down abruptly, and Den could have sworn that they all put angelic expressions on their faces. "What?"

"Kesesese! Never mind. They're good boys, aren't you?" The albino bent down to hug and croon to each of them while the shrugging Dane poured food onto the grass.

When it was all in a heap, Prussia stood back behind the quivering beasts and then yelled, "_Los!_" All the dogs immediately attacked the food pile, and he grabbed Den's arm and dragged him hurriedly back to the ring of cats. "If we stay there we might get mauled," he told his friend.

"It's still circle time, huh?" Den patted Romano on the head. "You're like a little kitten yourself, you know? Sleepy and warm."

This reminded Romano of the cat transformation spell, and he smiled softly, wishing he'd worn his pet tag collar. For a moment, before he answered, he wondered what England was doing today, and hoped he wasn't too lonely. He knew the bastard would like to be with these – yes – adorable cats. But the birds concerned him more, right now. "Those birds are creeping me out."

"I'm going to go take some more pictures of them," Den announced, keeping an eye on the slavering dogs at the other side of the park. "Don't come over; I don't want them disturbed."

"Fine, bastard." Romano lay gently back in the grass and rolled his eyes as cats swarmed up and over him to lie down atop his chest and belly and legs.

"Kesesese! Romano the cat mat!"

"Idiot," he smirked. "I don't notice any cats coming to play with _you._" At that, all the dogs came loping back, barking and chasing one another, and all the cats fled in alarm. "Dammit! Can't you keep those things under control?" He was still a little pissed because his shoulder kitten hadn't come back to him yet.

"Don't worry, Romano! They're fine! The cats and dogs are out here every weekend. The dogs never chase the cats and the cats never chase the storks and herons. And the dogs don't either. Everything is perfectly fine! Peace and harmony with nature."

"Whatever you say." For a while he was able to tune out the dogs and relax, until he heard Denmark's voice in a panicked crescendo as he approached them.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" the deep Viking voice boomed. "All the birds are gone!"

"What?" This was odd enough that Romano sat up and Prussia left off romping with the dogs. "What are you talking about, bastard?"

"There's not a single stork or heron over there at all. I don't understand it."

"Pfft. Me neither. There were something like fifty of them when I went and looked. They all turned those nasty beaks to look at me. Creepy." Romano passed a hand over his face. "It's probably a good thing they're gone."

The albino potato scrambled to his feet. "This can't be good, though. This is a sanctuary for them. They're under West's special protection! They are _always_ here!" He ran towards the riverbank, dogs pounding after him.

"Well, shit. Does this mean we've scared off all the potato bastard's private pet water birds?"

"Beats me." Den scratched his head. "I didn't see them fly away or anything, did you? I'm sure we would have noticed a huge flock like that taking off."

"I didn't. But I was trying to pay attention to the cats." All the cats came back, at that, and took up their positions around him again.

Prussia trudged back, the dogs seeming equally dejected. "I don't get it. But this could be very bad. What kind of predator is there for water birds?"

Romano snorted. "No fucking idea. Anyway, we'd have heard something, if some predator was attacking. They probably just flew off for a while." His kitten came back and he picked it up, cooing gently to it. "Did you see where the big scary birds went, little one?"

A meow was the only answer; they all laughed. "Do we need to find them?" Den then wondered. "To tell Germany, or the shelter lady?"

"They're not officially part of the shelter. Ah, let's just ignore it. They'll come back. Come on, let's play Frisbee with the dogs!"

"Sounds like a plan." Romano was fearsome with a Frisbee…throwing it, at least. Catching, not so much. He set all the cats aside and followed his friends.

…

_The chapter was getting out of control. More later._


	80. Animal Attraction II

**Animal Attraction II.**

Romano and Prussia stood about twenty feet apart, absently tossing the Frisbee around while the dogs barked and frolicked with Den. Then Prussia yelled, "Go, boys!" and whizzed the disc all the way across the park, and all the dogs thundered after it. The Dane collapsed on the ground, laughing.

The cats, meanwhile, sat in a calm group behind Romano, watching him carefully.

"I can't believe this." Den struggled upright and fished out the camera again. "I don't know what's weirder, the cats or the birds. Are these cats always like this?"

"Pfft. No idea. West and I always play with the dogs."

"Hah, that explains it," Romano growled, watching the lead dog run back with the Frisbee, the others chasing him. "They finally found someone who will pay attention to them." The kitten wandered up and tried to claw its way up his pant leg, so he picked it up and set it on his shoulder with a kiss on its nose.

Den took another picture. "You're just so fucking adorable, Romano. England's going to be sorry he missed this."

While Prussia and the biggest dog wrestled for the Frisbee, Romano continued petting the kitten with a finger. It reached out a paw and patted his throat. Maybe because Den had been speaking of England, this made him think about the day the island nation had turned himself into a ginger cat – much like this kitten, as a matter of fact.

He froze.

Then, very carefully trying not to be obvious (but Den was romping with the dogs again), he slid his eyes sideways to check on this kitten. Ginger, yes. A-and – what he'd missed before – this kitten had fluffy dark patches like eyebrows. "Dammit!" he muttered to it. "Why couldn't you stay away? The stupid albino potato is going to kill me, bastard. He said you weren't allowed to come!"

The kitten opened its green eyes wider and meowed.

"Fuck!" he hissed, scooping it up and setting it on the ground. With flapping motions he tried to shoo it out of sight. "Get out of here before Prussia sees you!" Dammit, what the hell was he going to do when England changed back? Shit! "Hey, is there a bathroom around here?" he yelled in a panic. Maybe he could trap the bastard in the bathroom until later?

"Over there, by the woods," Prussia, underneath all the dogs, tried to point. "But you can just take a leak in the river, you know."

Romano didn't even answer that; he was busy fleeing towards the rest room with the kitten in his hand. Once safely inside, he locked the door, set the kitten on the floor and stood scowling down at it, hands on his hips. "You dumb bastard! I told you you weren't allowed to come! Turn back right now, and go back to London!"

The kitten began to studiously wash a paw. "Meow," it said dismissively.

"Stop ignoring me!" Fuck, he had no idea what to do. If he trapped the kitten in here until it turned back into England, what would happen when one of the other bastards needed the bathroom? A-and he couldn't really be too angry right now. First of all, this was the nation he loved (and he was angrier at the macho potato for his mysterious "No England" rule than he was at the island bastard anyway). Second of all, even if it wasn't England, it was the world's cutest kitten! "Shit," he muttered. "Why'd you have to do this to me?"

No response. That was going to be the cleanest paw in potato land, at this rate.

"Okay, listen, bastard. I've only got one thing to say to you. When you change back, if the albino potato starts getting pissed off, it's nothing to do with me, all right? I told him I'd warned you away, and I did, and – " His cell phone bleeped with a text message, so he stopped haranguing his furry companion and pulled the phone out.

_Are you having a good day?_ England had sent him a text.

"What the _fuck?_" He fumbled the phone onto the floor, scaring the kitten back under a toilet, where it crouched with its eyes wide and panicked. Romano scooped up the phone and stared at the text, ignoring the kitten for now. "How the hell did this text message arrive?" He hunkered down and stared at the kitten with his eyes narrowed. "Just stop all the magical shit, will you? Come out from under that – that toilet," he muttered, feeling embarrassed, "and let's go outside again. Okay?"

Patiently he waited with an outstretched hand, and after a few seconds the frightened kitten crept warily towards him. Ah, that was good; whether it was England or not, he didn't want it to be scared.

It got close enough for him to reach out and pick up, and then Den banged on the bathroom door, yelling, "Romano, are you camping out in there, or what?"

Of course the bastard had scared the kitten again. The brunet stomped over to the door and yanked it open. "You dumb, noisy son of a bitch! I was talking to the kitten!"

"In the bathroom? You _locked the door?"_ Den howled with laughter, bracing himself against the wall. Unnoticed by either of them, the kitten sprinted between all the jean-clad legs and scurried towards Prussia and the other animals.

"Shut up," Romano muttered. "Why were you banging on the damn door anyway?"

"Are you stupid? I need the bathroom, that's why." Den pushed him aside. "Go away. I need privacy. Prussian eggs don't agree with me."

Romano snorted and began to leave, but then remembered the kitten was in there. "Wait, give me the kitten."

The two of them searched all over the tiny bathroom but it was evident that the little furball had made its escape. "Dammit. I hope it's okay."

"Just get out of here. It will show up." The Viking shoved him outside and locked the bathroom door.

"Shit," Romano muttered again, slouching back towards the albino potato.

Having been in the bathroom made him realize he should have used it, so he changed direction and wandered into the trees for a little privacy. Who the fuck knew how long Den would be in the stupid bathroom. Unzipping his fly, staring at the tree trunk before him, he proceeded to release the pressure on his bladder, thinking about England and the kitten and wondering what the hell to do, and suddenly a stork stuck its head out from behind the tree and stared at him in surprise. "Aah!" He jumped back – thankfully he'd finished what he needed to do – and fell onto the ground, his equipment still hanging out of his pants. "Dammit!" He scrambled to his feet and ran back to Prussia, tucking things away and zipping up as he went, checking over his shoulder for the goddamn bird. "That stupid potato bastard," he panted, when he got to his friend. "I hate your damn brother."

The dogs at this point were all running around, frolicking together, and Prussia had the camera out. "What's the matter?" he asked.

"Bird," Romano wheezed, pointing back towards the trees. "B-behind a tree."

"You were scared of a _bird_? Kesesese, you and your brother really are cowards."

"Bastard, it was a huge stork. Right behind the tree where I was – was – "

"Ah ha ha ha, scared the piss out of you, did it?" Prussia kept cackling, but Romano was too upset and too weak to hit him. He glanced around for the kitten, but didn't see it. The other cats came back to him and settled into a protective circle. He was happy to see them, and sat to pet all the ones he could reach. He needed the peace and purring!

Meanwhile, in the bathroom, Denmark finished what he'd come in for, washed his hands and dried them, and opened the door. "Aah!" He jumped backwards and slammed it shut. Fuck! Three storks had been standing outside in a group around the damn doorway, staring at him like a bunch of hit men. Shit. How was he going to get past them?

"Wait a minute," he said aloud. "I'm a big badass Viking. I don't need to be afraid of some stupid German birds!" He grabbed a handful of paper towels in each hand, holding them loosely by the corners, and flung the door open wide, letting out the berserker yell, charging outside and flapping the paper towels in an attempt to scare off the storks.

Halfway back to the others he realized there had been no storks this time. M-maybe he'd imagined it? He turned and looked – no storks. "Shit!" Den hurriedly stuffed the paper towels into his pockets so his friends wouldn't ask about them, and tried to look casual as he slouched over. "Hey." He flopped onto the ground and grabbed a dog to wrestle. This was a weird, weird day.

"All okay, my awesome friend?" Prussia asked.

"Temporarily, I think." He managed to peek at Romano. "Where's your kitten?"

"No idea. I – I was just telling the albino potato about a stork that hid behind a tree and scared the pi—scared me. I don't know what it was doing there."

So Den sat up and explained what he thought he'd seen when leaving the bathroom. Didn't tell them about his pep talk or the Viking yell, though. That would have been embarrassing!

"That is kind of weird." Prussia flipped the Frisbee back and forth absently. "I'm going to go see if they're in the woods, or what." He tossed the Frisbee to Den and got up. "Come on, awesome cats, walk with me!"

All the cats stayed camped around Romano and watched him go. "You cats have good taste," he heard Romano laugh, just before he reached the woods.

Hmm. Nothing. He used his awesome ninja skills to creep from pine to rowan to linden, but there were no storks or herons in sight. Not a one! He thought Den must have been mistaken. Maybe Romano had been, too. He walked into a little clearing ringed by trees and considered this. He, Prussia, hadn't seen any since much earlier today. They must have all migra—"Aah!" From behind each tree around the clearing a few storks and herons appeared, flapping their wings slowly and clacking their beaks together. Prussia didn't stop to see if they were a hallucination – he ran hell-for-leather back to his friends, panting, not noticing that Den had the camera out and was filming his panicked retreat.

"Well, bastard? I'm guessing they found you?" Romano looked past him but didn't see any birds. Good.

"_Scheisse!_ It was nuts! There were about twenty of them and they all just materialized out of nowhere. Man, I'm going to tell West to make them migrate. I can't handle this." He lay down and the dogs came to cozy up to him. Some cats, meanwhile, got up to investigate him, but soon came back to the Italian.

"Is it four o'clock yet?" the blond then asked, stowing the camera. "This is all too weird. Do we have to wait for the shelter lady, or can we cage these guys up and go?"

"Well, it's three-thirty." Prussia sat up. "We have to wait for her, but let's get everything packed up."

So they packed the cat treat bag, the empty dog food bag, and the Frisbee into the backpack, sparing some time to pet the dogs, who seemed very tired all of a sudden.

The kitten finally scampered up to Romano from nowhere and meowed. Panicking again – what if England changed back in front of these two bastards? – he scooped it (him?) up and set it on his shoulder. "Don't w-w-worry," he managed to tell it. "I won't let the big scary birds get you." Damn straight! If the fucking storks or herons showed signs of attack, he'd be out of there faster than any WWII battle retreat. As long as the kitten stayed on his shoulder, they'd both be safe.

"Soon time to go," Prussia told the dogs. "Better get your ya-yas out!" They suddenly got their second wind and all broke into insane barking, charging in unison over into the wooded area.

This barking did the job that none of the nations had been able to achieve. About fifty storks and herons flapped out of the trees and soared into the sky, leaving the frothing dogs behind.

"Wh-wh-what the _fuck?_" Den eventually squeaked out. "Where the hell were they?"

"Don't ask me. That was awesome! Good job, boys," the albino called to the dogs, applauding.

"That was _insane,_ bastards. Nothing awesome at all." Romano was squeezing his kitten so tightly that it began to meow at him. He let go and smiled weakly at it. "Sorry, Eng—uh, bastard," he corrected himself, still flustered. It stopped making noise and patted his nose again. Dammit.

"Hellooo?" The shelter lady's voice came from the direction of the cages.

"Let's get the hell out of here," Den said firmly, scooping up the backpack and running over there. Romano was hot on his heels.

When they got there – and all the cats had peacefully come to say goodbye to Romano before getting put into their cages – they saw Prussia coaxing the dogs out from the woods. "Kesesese! That was so cool. Come on, boys, time to go back in for the night." The canines frolicked around him, and then around Den, leaping up and making all of them laugh.

Romano stood to the side, still holding the kitten, halfheartedly watching Den and the dogs while wondering what to do. How could he let the shelter lady put England into a cage? What would happen when the bastard changed back? That cage was very small. He was in such a flap over this that he decided to adopt the kitten. It was the only way to save the situation that he could think of.

As soon as he'd made this decision, his phone bleeped again. This time England's text said _Where are you gits? _

"Huh?" he said to the phone. Then he looked at the kitten. Could this really be just coincidence? He now supposed it had to be. In that case, this wasn't England, and he didn't have to adopt it. That was good. With all his nation work he didn't really have time to dote on it like he should, adorable though it was. Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he handed the kitten to the shelter lady after pecking another goodbye kiss on its nose.

Prussia, locking the last dog in its cage, caught sight of this and beamed. "Why don't you adopt it?"

The shelter lady glanced up from the last lock. "Oh! That kitten is mine. I just keep her here because she gets more companionship than staying home alone all day while I work. Did 'oo have a nice day, _Schätzchen_?" she cooed to the kitten, who looked smug.

Well, that solved that, dammit. "Fine. Thanks. Let's just go, bastards," he said, jabbing Den with his elbow.

"Okay. See ya next month!" Prussia called out to the lady, as they all headed back to the car.

Den threw the backpack into the back seat before taking shotgun. "Man, that was an exhausting day. Those freaky fucking birds!"

Prussia nodded fervently. "I wonder why they were all hiding in the trees? I don't think that's marsh bird behavior at all. Maybe something scared them." He started the car. "Hey, are we going out for awesome dinner? I know it's kind of early. And if you want, Romano, now that we're done with the shelter, you could call Arthur and invite him to join us, if he can. We can hang out and drink while we wait for him."

Yes. He was so flustered about the cats and the birds that he wanted England's soothing presence to calm him down. "Cool. Thanks." He pulled out the phone and answered the last text, asking the blond to join them.

By the time Prussia pulled into his driveway, England was already on the front stoop. "Hey, _Arthur!_" The albino leaped out of the car and ran to hug his friend. "Wow, you are so magic! You got here so fast."

England laughed and hugged him. "I've been in town a while. Romano wouldn't tell me what you gits were up to, so I thought it'd be fun to come wait for you. Spent some time wandering around the city."

Romano walked up and embraced him quickly as well. "Hey, bastard."

"Hello, love." England stroked his hair. Ah, that was better. He always felt much safer around the island nation. They –

"Aah!" Den's voice broke into his thoughts.

The brunet turned and panicked to see a whole flock of storks and herons swooping around the front yard. "Dammit!" he yelled, and all three of the Skirmish Brothers ran into the house, but England stayed put. The birds circled him like a whirlwind, and he stood staring into the sky in awe.

Inside, the three pressed their noses to the windowpane to watch. "Bastard, get in here," Romano moaned under his breath, desperately worried about his vulnerable friend.

"Shit," Den agreed.

But England simply waved at the birds and turned to walk to the front door calmly.

The boys watched the flock wheel off, heading back towards the shelter and river park. "Huh?" Prussia asked pointlessly.

"M-magic," Romano choked out. "It must be. Dammit, I wish he'd been at the park! He could have kept them all away from us." He was too frightened to go back out into the front yard and hoped England would get into the house right away, before the damn birds came back, so he'd be safe.

Denmark's eyes narrowed. "Maybe he _was_ at the park. Maybe he made them do all that shit."

"And the cats!" Prussia agreed. "They all loved Romano so much. That'd totally be an Iggy thing to do."

As soon as Prussia let him in, they all began pelting England with questions. Had he done magic? Was he at the park in disguise? Did he – "Wait, wait," he laughed. "You seriously think I was storking you three today?"

Huh? "D-d-did you say _storking us_?" Romano stammered.

"Are you kitten me? I said 'stalking,' Romano! 'Stalking' you!"

"Huh."

"You must not be heron me right." He could not repress a smirk.

"You did do something," Den said flatly.

"Who, me? That would be marsh too intrusive."

"You dumb, fucking idiot!" Romano yelled, and with screams of malicious joy all three of them jumped on the island nation and began pounding him senseless.

…

_The anagram was "Magic Hid Storks." I'm guessing he did something similar ten years ago, which got Germany so pissed off that he issued the ban. _

_Anyway, to clarify, the kitten really just was a kitten. England was elsewhere in Berlin, using his magic to make the marsh birds act goofy._


	81. Magical Adventures I

_Does anyone remember "The Magical Adventures of the Skirmish Brothers"? That story was originally uploaded in late 2013 and I took it down because it wasn't making me happy. However, on a reread tonight it seems all right, so I've decided to rework parts of it and put it into the main SB story. There won't be any new additions to it, though. There are 10 chapters in this arc: Prologue; The Shire I & II; The Emerald City I & II; Planning; Hogwarts I & II; and Ankh-Morpork I & II._

…

**Prologue.**

"They do exist, you know." England pushed back his cap and grinned, though his eyes were shut against the sun. "Middle-Earth's a lot cooler at this time of year, too." He raised his Campari and soda to toast his friends.

It was true: the heat here in Rome was almost sizzling. A week of meetings in Venice had just ended, and Romano had invited his three friends to spend the weekend. None had anticipated the sweltering weather, though. They now relaxed on his back deck, drinking iced drinks, wearing nothing but swim trunks and caps. Every now and then, Romano turned on the garden hose and sprayed them all, before returning to his siesta-like stupor.

"Kesesese! You can't be serious, Arthur. Middle-Earth? Hah!"

Denmark snorted weakly, placing some ice cubes in a line down each of his powerful thighs. "Next you'll be telling me Discworld exists, or Narnia."

"Bastards."

"They do," the island nation yawned, pouring another drink from the depleted pitcher. "How do you think I know about them? My people go there, and then come back to write stories about them. Oz, Barsoom, Dalemark…they're all real."

Prussia opened his eyes but then closed them against the intense sunlight. "So, have you ever been there?" More than a hint of derision came through in his question.

"Of course." Ice cubes tinkled as England finished his drink. "Anybody can get there, if they have the right mindset."

"See, bastard, he's going to claim nobody has the right fucking mindset anymore, and then he won't have to prove it." Romano played the hose over them once more.

"Not at all. I could take us all to anyplace you'd care to go. Though I'd suspect Romano would be too bloody chicken."

"Pfft. You could take us to Middle-Earth?" Den started laughing so hard that all the remaining ice cubes fell off his legs. "You're on."

"Yes! Let's go. I want to meet Saruman! That'd be so awesome, because he's Saruman the White, you know."

England finally opened his eyes and stared at the albino. "Gilbert, you idiot. Saruman's dead, remember? Wormtongue killed him."

Prussia's face fell; Romano started laughing. "See? I told you. He'll take you to some fucking desolate part of Britain and claim it's Middle-Earth. Pfft. Well, you're not getting me to fall for it, stupid." He reached for the hose and aimed it right at the island nation's face.

"Git!"

A short struggle ensued; when it was over, both England and Romano were soaking wet and laughing. Prussia had rescued (and emptied) the drinks pitcher, and Denmark had fallen asleep, missing the whole thing.

"All right," Romano finally conceded, trying to dry his sopping hair with his wet shirt. "Fine. Take us all to Middle-Earth. Prove it. Then I'll shut up about your fucking mystic shit once and for all."

"Deal," England promptly responded. "Next weekend's a bank holiday. Come over on Friday night; we'll get a good night's sleep, and leave on Saturday morning."

"Kesesese! Hey, Den, wake up! This is going to be _awesome!"_

…

_This framework will allow me to write a series of mini-crossovers with famous literary magic worlds. __They will only encounter characters who are still alive in the crossover worlds. Anyone who has died or left the main scene (i.e., Frodo and Bilbo going to the Grey Havens) will not appear._


	82. The Shire I

**The Shire. **(Lord of the Rings, J. R. R. Tolkien)

Denmark woke up kind of late on Saturday. It was past nine! He stretched in the bed, wondering why Prussia hadn't dragged him awake at six, wondering why England and Romano had let him sleep so long. Maybe they were still in bed. He knew both of them were late sleepers. Stumbling out of the bed, Den hurried to wash up, then dressed in a tan tee, brown pants and his hiking boots.

At first he'd dismissed England's claims as unprovable, but over the last week he and Prussia had spoken of it more and more, and now he was strongly hoping that this was legit. To see Middle-Earth! Not many people had that chance, he'd bet. Not to mention the sheer thrill of being involved in magic. Den wasn't as flagrantly excited as Prussia was, but he was keeping a lid on it so he didn't look like a dork. He planned to be very calm and supportive of the island nation (no matter what negativity Romano might still be spouting) in case it was true. Think of all the places they could go, if England didn't get pissed off at them!

As he descended the narrow stairs of the London townhome, he could hear three accented, angry voices shouting in the kitchen. The fighting bastards were at it already! Grinning, he walked into the room, and immediately saw the problem. "Prussia, you ass. Go change your clothes."

"What? What?" The albino removed his mirrored sunglasses and peered down at his outfit: tie-dye neon hoodie, cargo jean shorts, a chain wallet and Birkenstocks with black socks. "Arthur's yelling about it, too. What are you two talking about? This is my usual tourist outfit. Remember?"

Den yawned. "They don't dress like that in Middle-Earth. You have to blend in with the locals! Go put on something more somber."

"Somber! I don't do somber." Prussia flopped into a kitchen chair and put his sunglasses back on with a grin, sucking down some coffee.

"Pfft. Might as well let him dress how he wants, bastards. You know we're not actually going to end up there."

England slammed his fist down onto the counter. "Listen up, wankers. Either we do this right, or we don't go. I don't want to cause problems with hobbits staring at Gilbert's bloody neon gear all day, or listen to Romano's half-assed bitching about how I'm taking you to a fake place!"

"I know you'll take us to a real place, you moron. I know you can work magic, remember?" Romano reached a hand up to his throat. "I just don't believe you can take us to a place that's fictional."

"Git! It's not fictional! That's the whole point!"

"Dammit, you stupid bastard! You know what I meant."

England roared, "If you're going to be like this, then get out of the bloody house!"

The two of them faced each other across the counter, growling. _Back down, Romano_, Denmark prayed. It was never pretty when these two fought with each other, and it would suck if he didn't play along. Not to mention all the damn drama afterwards…Den could see it now, three months of fighting and listening to Romano moan about England. Shit.

Romano took a deep breath and apparently heard the prayer. "Sorry," he said, staring at the floor.

"Yeah, me too." England pushed a hand through his hair. "Look, even if you don't believe it, just roll with it, all right? It's an adventure for all four of us. If it turns out to be unsatisfactory for you, I give you my permission to give me unlimited flak about it for the next two weeks. All right?"

"O-okay." The brunet looked up and they hesitantly smiled at each other. "Three weeks," he amended with a smirk.

England rolled his eyes. "Fine."

"Enough of all this," Den then said, hoping to dispel the tension. "Prussia, go change, and England, make me some breakfast." Though he might live to regret that.

"Wanker. Get your own breakfast. I'll help Gilbert find something appropriate to wear." The two of them left the room.

"Fuck," Romano sighed, flopping into a chair, watching Den rummage around for food. He at least was dressed more appropriately – black clothes and boots – even if he didn't think it was a 'real event.'

Denmark found some rye bread and put it in the toaster, grabbing an apple from the bowl on the counter to munch while he waited for it to pop up. "Yeah. But listen, will you? What if it really is real? Wouldn't you be pissed if we missed out on it?"

"Guess so. I'm not really a fan of magical shit. I've seen the movies, but…" Romano shrugged.

The toast popped up and Denmark began to butter it. "But you know England would go along with stuff that _you_ like, right? If you wanted him to? Might as well return the favor. Besides, maybe Prussia will be so awed he'll shut up for a while." He shoved the apple core into the trash can before starting in on the toast.

The two of them were still laughing at that when the others returned, with the albino now appropriately dressed. He still wore his shorts, and his sandals without the socks, but had struggled his more muscular torso into one of England's plain olive green t-shirts; the sunglasses were gone.

"Did you get enough to eat?" England asked.

"Psh. Yeah, enough, I guess." Den shoved the last piece of stale toast into his mouth and licked butter off his fingers.

"So where are you taking us? The Shire? Rohan? Lothlorien? Man, I want to see some elves," Prussia whined. Romano rolled his eyes but kept silent.

The island nation busied himself putting away the breakfast things, tumbling the dirty crockery into the sink for later. "I thought we'd start out in the Shire. It's fairly tame. If you're all happy with the adventure as a whole, we can put the other places on a list for the future. Okay?"

"Deal!" Prussia grabbed Den's hand and began jumping up and down. "Where do we go? What do we do?"

Romano started laughing. To Denmark he said, "About that 'so awed' business?"

Both England and Prussia ignored that. "Yappy gits. Come downstairs to my Sanctum."

"His what?" Den whispered to Romano, following England and the capering Prussia down the gloomy wooden stairs to the basement.

"Beats the hell out of me."

The blond led them into a spacious, wooden-floored room with massive floor-to-ceiling bookcases on all four walls. Track lighting overhead dispelled any gloom; shelves with incense, candles, books, and other magical paraphernalia surrounded them. The center of the room was filled by an ornate magical circle carved into the floor, with a smaller one off to the side.

Prussia immediately ran up to a skull on a shelf. "Cool! Whose skull?"

"Sherlock Holmes," England muttered absently, scrounging around in a drawer.

"Don't you mean the awesome Conan Doyle?"

"I mean Sherlock Holmes!" The blond unearthed a long, rustic-looking cape with a hood, a sort of dirty brick color, and put it on over his clothing, fastening it at the throat. "Don't touch anything." He then took a battered leather rucksack and checked its contents.

"Sherlock fucking _Holmes._ I'm going to get a headache from all this eye rolling, bastard."

"Shut it. Stand in the middle of the big circle." England pointed to it without looking up. "This is our emergency bag. Aspirin, ointment, allergy pills, that kind of shite. I'll hang onto it. Let me know if you need anything."

Dutifully his three friends moved to the center of the circle. Prussia continued to peer around the room and tug on Den's arm whenever he saw something interesting. "What do we need to do?"

Their host turned from his packing. "You're in the circle, yeah? We'll stand in there, and I need to light a candle and recite a spell. All you three have to do is stand silently and don't break the circle. Got that? Gilbert? Don't break the circle!"

"Yeah, yeah, I awesomely got it." Both the others nodded; Romano continued to scowl around the room.

"I never even knew you had a basement," Den remarked, gazing at everything. "It looks very modern, for a magic place. You know. We expect dribbly candles and eye of toad and all that junk you read about in books, but this looks like a drugstore."

"A drugstore with Sherlock Holmes' fucking skull," Romano muttered, sounding uneasy.

"There's no reason to stick with all that old-time claptrap," England pointed out. "Magic moves with the times just like everything else. Most of the old stuff you see is just personal memorabilia for me." He headed to a bookcase and removed a large, leather-bound book, looking something up and nodding to himself.

"Hey, Iggy, do you really use all this stuff or is it just for show?" Prussia pointed at a broom in the corner.

"Not going to answer if you call me Iggy." The host pulled out a thick white candle and some matches, and strode to the center of the circle. "Hold this." He handed it to Denmark, probably because he seemed like the most rational one of the three at the moment, before striding to a large wardrobe in the corner.

"Okay, then, _Arrrr-thurrr…_will you answer me? What's the broom for? I thought only witches used brooms?"

"Git. The broom is used for sweeping the floor." Even Romano laughed at that. "I use most of this stuff, though it depends on what I'm doing. Every spell has different needs." He rummaged in the wardrobe, pulling out an impressive ebony wizard's staff shod with silver.

"How often do you do magic?"

"Not much, these days. I'm glad I'm getting a chance to do some now. I hope you wankers can deal with it." He joined them in the circle, switching off the overhead lights on the way. The room became somewhat spooky. Was the skull glowing? Denmark shivered a little. "Den, please light the candle and place it in the dead center of the circle, which is marked with a cross."

The others spread back to give Denmark some room. Romano clutched at England's cape and the four stood staring at the candle for a second. "Well?" the Italian hissed.

"Turn your back on it. One person facing each of the cardinal directions."

"How do we know –?"

"Kesesese! It's carved into the floor, Romano!" Prussia pointed to the compass rose, flickering in the weak, gardenia-scented candlelight. "Wait, though. We have to do our regular compass thing." He pulled and shoved until the struggling Romano stood facing south, Denmark north, England west and then took his own position facing east. "Okay, go."

England began a low melancholy chant that none of the others could make out, and before Denmark could begin to worry…

…they were standing at a dusty crossroads, looking out over some fields. "Huh?" Romano blurted out. "That was it?"

"Wow. Even if this isn't the Shire, Arthur, that was an excellent way of traveling." Prussia blew him a kiss. "Can we move now?"

"Yes, step away from the candle." England reached down, picked it up, and ceremoniously extinguished it, stowing it in the rucksack.

Denmark had to shade his eyes against the bright sunlight. "This is really the Shire?"

"Yes!" England raised his dark eyebrows and buffed his nails on his robe, grinning like the master magician he was. "Why would I lie?"

Romano laughed. "Prove it. I'm not being cranky! I just want some proof. But the albino potato is right. That was a great way to travel. Why don't you do that for meetings? Save yourself all that time on trains and fucking airplanes? Save _us_ all that time…?" He smiled somewhat appealingly at his boyfriend.

"Half of the knowledge of magic is knowing when not to use it," England lectured. "Are we going to stand around gawking all day?" He turned slowly in place. "But it does seem rather deserted. Maybe something's going on. Some kind of event. I hope there's no trouble."

"If there is, we could probably help out." Den grinned. "Should have brought my axe. That'd fit right in. Or I could use your staff?"

"Bloody hell! We're not supposed to interfere! And my staff is not a weapon."

"Let's walk! Let's walk!" Prussia grabbed Den's hand and pulled him along in a random direction.

"Hey, no," the Dane replied, yanking his hand away. "I don't want to hold your hand while we're here."

"Huh? Oh. Well, all right." The albino skipped ahead and did a few handsprings; one of his sandals fell off and he hurried to fetch it. "This is _so awesome!_"

"Don't get your hopes up, bastard. This looks exactly like the movies, you know? I bet he just brought us to New Zealand, where they make the movies. This is the movie set. It's still set up for the Hobbit movies."

England rolled his eyes again. "Don't be an arse, Romano. Of course Peter Jackson's been to Middle-Earth, too. He modeled the sets on the actual Shire."

Romano kicked a rock. "It's a fucking British conspiracy."

"Shut up," all three of his friends chorused, walking on. He hurried to catch up.

"Anyway, even if this was the movie set, that'd still be awesome. I want to meet Benedict Cumberbatch!"

"You're no better than a bloody fangirl, Gilbert! Everybody in Christendom wants to meet that bloke. Get a move on!"

…

About a mile later a young boy ran up to them. Everyone but England stared in amazement, because this boy really did look like a hobbit. Denmark, squinting, couldn't tell whether he was an – an _actual hobbit,_ or a curly-haired actor with prosthetic hairy feet. Young? He might even be as old as thirty. Den realized he was completely at a loss here.

Before anyone could speak, the boy said to Prussia, "Are you here for the party? You – gosh, you're completely _white!"_

Prussia flashed him a wide-eyed grin and then did another handspring. "Party? Awesome!"

"Shut up." Romano hissed this but they all heard it.

England sighed. "No, lad, we're not. What's the party in aid of? And is that why there's no one around? We don't want to interrupt anything."

"Yeah, yeah! My da's having a birthday today. He said some old friends were coming, so I'm out here on the road to meet them."

Denmark stared at the youngster, still trying to make up his mind about the boy's authenticity. "Da?" he asked, at the same time that England said "Old friends?"

"Me dad's name is Samwise. It's not actually his birthday. He went on a big adventure when he was little and today's the anniversary of the day he came back safely. He went with his friend Mr. Frodo."

"We know," Romano said, perhaps unwisely.

"You do know? It's true, what Dad always said! Mr. Frodo was the famousest of all the hobbits!" The youngster tried to mimic Prussia's handspring and fell down, laughing and waving his big hairy feet in the air. "Come on! Come to the party!"

"Wait, lad, wait." England helped him upright. "We aren't the friends he's waiting for."

"That's all right! Everyone's welcome at a party. Come along and I'll show you where it is."

Prussia did a little triumphant shuffle-step in the middle of the road, but Den cleared his throat. "Wh-what about the real friends?" he wondered. "What happens if you're not here when they show up?"

"Sam's friends will show up," a deep voice boomed behind them. As they turned, Den saw Romano close his eyes, as if he couldn't believe what was happening.

And in fact Denmark could hardly believe it, and Prussia stood with his jaw open like a big dumb fish. "G-Gimli? _Legolas?"_ the albino whispered.

"You know us, white Man?" the newcomer laughed. Even Legolas managed a gentle smile. "Aye, every one of Sam Gamgee's friends knows us!" The dwarf tried to throw his arm around Prussia's shoulders, but the albino was too tall, so Gimli merely slapped him on the back. "Come along! As the youngster said, everyone's welcome at a party."

Somewhat in a daze, the Skirmish Brothers managed to perform introductions as they walked along. England remained polite and friendly, chatting with both the dwarf and elf, while the hobbit scampered ahead, still trying to mimic Prussia's handsprings.

Eventually a little something snapped in Denmark's brain, and he stopped thinking of them as _famous fictional characters_ and just started thinking of them as people. At that point, it became much easier to converse, although the calm serenity of Legolas got on his nerves a bit.

Prussia had apparently found a similar solution in his mind; he was now up ahead, laughing and trying to teach the young hobbit (whose name they still did not know) how to properly perform a handspring. Maybe it was easier for him to relax because the young boy wasn't a book character?

Denmark was so laughingly intent on that sight, and on his conversation with the others, that he didn't pay attention to Romano, so he missed the warning signs. The brunet walked far to the rear of the group, frowning, scuffing his boots in the dry Shire dust. Even England didn't realize this. If he had, he might have taken some steps to prevent the disaster at the party.

…

_Longtime readers of my work might remember the Sanctum from a pair of Discworld/Hetalia crossovers I wrote a few years ago (which are no longer online)._


	83. The Shire II

**The Shire II.**

By the time they'd all reached the party field, everyone else seemed to be comfortable. Romano still felt awkward, but he didn't know what to do about it. It was obviously some kind of setup, though. It had to be! England had had a whole week to notify the moviemaking bastards that they were coming today, and this was all just a little too convenient. A party? Yeah, _right_. He'd sort it out later, though. Didn't want to make trouble in front of all these actors.

Romano did understand that he was antisocial. Hell, everybody knew that, even his friends. Especially his friends! They were the only three people in the world (well, and add Veneziano) who actually knew that he could be calm, have fun and relax.

But of course if – if this was real, if this was somehow not an England scam, then these people didn't know anything about Italy. He'd often daydreamed about something like this: going to a place where he had no prior history, and trying to behave rationally and make friends more easily. As a nation, of course, a place like this was impossible to find, and he also wasn't sure he could manage to behave right.

Chigi, it was so stupid! Look at the damn albino potato doing gymnastics in the middle of the fucking road. He was probably going to ask for a role in the next movie. Romano snorted and trudged along. There had to be a way to prove – or _disprove_ – this whole setup. Did he really want to keep tagging along with his friends to all the magical worlds? Or facsimiles of magical world, or whatever the hell they were? Maybe he shouldn't play along after this.

But this depressed him. He had more fun with these bastards than anybody else, and he'd absolutely hate to be left out, even if he wasn't really interested in the destination. He bit his lip. A-and it might upset England, if he said he didn't want to go anymore. Dammit.

The group rounded a corner and came upon the busy Party Field. Did it look like the movie set? Romano couldn't tell. He'd watched the movies when they'd first come out, and – well, it sort of looked right, but he'd never really know. He wasn't some analytical idiot that memorized every movie trying to find flaws with it.

He blinked, noticing that England was standing next to him. "You all right?" the blond asked quietly.

"Uh? Yeah, yeah, don't worry about me. I'll sit in the corner and should be all right." He would have said more, but a bunch of "hobbits" came forward to greet the large group.

Legolas took the lead, introducing the newcomers to Sam, Pippin, Merry, and a few others; each of the nations shook hands with all of them. "We're happy to be sharing in your special day," England pronounced portentously.

Sam Gamgee laughed and laughed. "Don't worry about it none. Just come and enjoy!" He gestured with a sweeping arm towards the crowds, some of whom were staring at him and the non-hobbit guests, but most of whom were already eating, drinking and smoking, catching up on gossip with friends new and old.

A very young child toddled up to Sam and grabbed him by the leg. "Grandpa?" she said in a quavering voice, staring nervously up at Denmark (easily the tallest person here). Romano stifled a laugh at her fearful expression.

The host swung her up into his arms. "Come on, little lass. Let's go find your mother." To the newly-arrived group he laughed, "Make yourselves at home!" before striding off to find his daughter. The young child continued to stare at Den, who waved at her; she broke into giggles as Sam took her away.

"Interesting to meet some new Men," Pippin grinned, staring them blatantly up and down.

"You have no idea," the Viking nation replied, smirking and shaking his hand once more. "What usually goes on at these parties?"

Gimli gestured to a picnic table that was currently unoccupied. "Come, let's sit and drink. Even the elf will have beer on this day, won't you?" He nudged Legolas and received an actual laugh in return. The four nations, with the four remaining members of the Fellowship, sat at the table.

Merry collared a young hobbit. "Beer and pipes for us all," he demanded, and the youth, looking awestruck, nodded and ran to fetch these things. "We have a little bit of clout," he then said modestly, making his friends laugh.

Romano sat on the edge of his bench. Somehow he'd ended up next to Legolas. Shit. Well, at least he was opposite England. He smiled weakly at the bastard, getting a big happy smile in return. That was good. At least his friend wasn't pissed off at him for being unsociable. Romano decided his best bet would be to sit quietly, observe, and ask, once they were alone at home, whether it had been a prank. Surely England would be honest with him, when they were alone? He didn't mind coming along to all these things, he decided, but he needed England's honesty. That was the most important thing.

He squirmed a little, remembering that night when he'd pranked the three of them into drinking the yerba mate with habanero sauce. M-m-maybe they knew it had been a prank, and this was their payback? Dammit!

But before Romano could panic about this, the young hobbit and some friends came back bearing a few pitchers of beer, some mugs, pipes and tobacco. Predictably, the stupid albino potato and Den both reached for the beer, but to Romano's surprise, England picked up a pipe and lit up. Gimli kept an entire pitcher of beer for himself, and the rest of them shared out the other pitchers.

Romano hated beer, but it would be a good excuse for not speaking, if he kept drinking. Yeah. He'd suffer it, today. He picked up the mug and drank. Hmm. It was pretty good – for _beer._

"So, what brings you to our humble Shire?" Pippin asked, still grinning at Den.

"Not so humble any longer," Legolas pointed out. "Thanks to your bravery, the Shire's now famous throughout the land, where many did not know of it before." Merry and Pippin showed no signs of embarrassment at this, but laughed and drank, toasting the elf.

Prussia tried to find a way to explain their visit. "We – uh – we're – our friend, uh," he stumbled, pointing to England, who took up the discussion.

"We're just passing through. Trying to take more of an interest in the world around us."

"Not a very big pack, for four Men traveling the world." Merry raised an eyebrow and then yelped. "Stop kicking me, Pip. You know it's true."

"Maybe you're wizards?" the elf asked politely.

"Yeah! Eng—uh, Arthur is a wizard," Prussia blurted out, getting nasty frowns from his three friends. "What? What?"

"Just shut your mouth." Denmark cuffed him on the shoulder and explained, "We're trying to travel incognito."

Romano snorted and looked up from his second beer. "As if any group with the albino potato could stay undercover."

"Kesesese! Well, you got that right, Romano. Hey, get up and walk around with me," Prussia suggested. "Slow down on the beer; let's go see things."

"Cheh, well, all right." The Italian pushed himself up from the table. "Though this beer is a lot better than any other beer I've had."

"Shire beer is famous!" Pippin and Merry clanked their mugs in a toast to the Shire beer, and Romano managed not to snort as he walked off with Prussia, who began to argue the merits of German beer with him.

Gimli too rose from the table, saying he wanted to talk to Sam. The others waved them off.

"So where are you from?" Legolas politely asked Denmark.

He was wildly casting around in his mind for an appropriate answer, but England replied, "Elsewhere."

_Elsewhere?_ Den snorted into his mug. What a stupid answer.

Yet, spreading his hands in acceptance of this, the elf replied, "Fair enough."

Before he could get further, England asked the two hobbits how many years it had been since their return to the Shire. "It must have been a while ago, if Sam's got grandchildren?"

"At least sixteen, then, I suppose," Merry decided, drinking more beer and sending a young hobbit off to fetch a few more pitchers. "We don't think much about the flow of time, do we, Pip?"

Pippin belched and reached for a pipe, laughing. "Not anymore. As long as I've got what I need, I'm all right. Pour me a beer."

For a while the five of them talked about the party, about the Shire in general. Denmark was really impressed, both with England's magic and with the people they'd met. He was excited about meeting Gimli and hoped to get a good look at the axe that he wore in a bandolier on his back, once the dwarf returned to the table.

A few minutes later Pippin upended his empty mug and possibly kicked his friend again. At any rate, Merry scowled, first at his friend, and then at the party in general. "Yes, where are those kids? We need our beer!" He got up and ran off.

In less than a minute, more beer arrived, on a tray held by a different youth. "A-are you friends with the Man who's all white?" one of them whispered to Denmark, who began laughing like mad. He knew Prussia must be loving this.

England rolled his eyes. "Incognito, my arse. Yes, he's our friend. Why?"

"He's going to sing a song, he said!" The hobbit girl's pale blue eyes were wide amongst her cloud of curly blond hair. "Look!" She turned and pointed.

Prussia stood on a picnic table that was surrounded by laughing hobbits and Gimli. From this distance Den couldn't hear him, but he saw his friend make a deep courtly bow and apparently begin singing. The hobbits in his audience began to clap along with the song, and Den felt a poke in his back.

"Move over, idiot." Romano sat between him and England. "I can't believe this." He reached for a pitcher and poured himself a new beer.

"Pfft." England gave him a wry grin. "Are you kidding? Gilbert's a lot like a hobbit himself, you know; just likes the simple things in life. To perform a song at a party like this is probably going to be the best experience he's ever had."

"What's he singing?" Den asked.

"The fu—uh, the stupid 'Big Rock Candy Mountain'!" Romano drank some beer and rolled his eyes; the other two laughed.

By then, Prussia had finished singing; he hopped off the table and ran back to them. "That was so awesome! Did you see me? Did you? Listen to them clapping!" He plopped down on the end of the bench next to Pippin, across from Den.

"Yes, we saw you. Couldn't hear you, though." Denmark reached over and ruffled his hair. "They liked it, huh?" And indeed, the assembled crowd continued to clap and stare after him.

"Kesesese! Go up, Den. Go up and sing something!"

"Hah. I can't sing those kinds of songs on command. Let's see." Den leaned back on the bench. "Yeah, I got something I can do. Back in a bit." He slid out of the seat and wandered off to the performance table.

Gimli came back and sat next to Legolas again. "A good song, pale Man! A great song! Eh, my friend?" He turned to the elf with a hearty grin.

"I'm going to go speak to Sam" was Legolas' calm response, just as Merry came back and sat down again.

When the elf was out of earshot, everyone but Romano began to laugh. "You have to admit it's not his style," Pippin pointed out.

"Wonder what kind of performance the Viking bastard's doing?" By now Denmark was up on the table and bowed as Prussia had done.

"I'll go see." England got up, removing his cloak and packing it into their rucksack before walking over to the performance table. His friends watched him go.

Even before he arrived in the crowd Romano saw him cover his face with his hands, turn, and hurry back. "Well? Well? What's he doing, moron?"

"Bloody Beowulf. I should have guessed."

Romano didn't even reply. He just put his head down on the table.

"You okay?" Merry poked him. "Too much beer?"

"You can never have too much beer!" Pippin roared this out and finished half a pitcher at one go.

The Italian sat up and groaned. "Believe me. Any beer is too much beer!"

Both the hobbits looked affronted at that statement, and England gave his friend a little shove under the table. "Git," he whispered. "Don't offend our hosts!"

Denmark came back before Romano could answer, and Pippin's attention was distracted. "Eh, Merry, maybe we should go up and dance?"

"Sounds good to me." Merry finished his beer, pointedly eyeing the surly Romano, before getting up and following his friend.

The four friends were now alone at the table, so Denmark sat next to Prussia, opposite the others. "How did Beowulf go?" Prussia asked.

"Ah, I only did the extremely short version. Seems they were happier with your song." Den scratched his spiky hair. "Maybe this isn't the place for classical literature."

"You going to perform something, idiot?" Romano elbowed his friend.

England thought. "Can't think of anything. No, I can't be arsed to do anything like that. Come for a walk with me?" he asked Romano.

"I'd rather just sit. Take Den." Romano reached for the beer pitcher.

"Well? Want to go for a walk?"

"Yes, of course. Plus I think we ought to walk around and see more of the Shire before we go, you know? Get a real feel for the place." They got up from the table and headed on a loop of the perimeter just as Sam came back to the table.

Romano sighed and drank some more. Sam sat next to Prussia, so Romano tried to observe, to see if this guy really was a real hobbit. Well, there was no actual way to do that without bending down and staring at his fucking feet, so he stopped trying and focused on the conversation.

"Eh, I love a good party." Sam puffed on his pipe. "You furriners enjoying yourselves?"

"It's awesome! I mean, a party! We didn't expect that at all."

Legolas returned and sat next to Romano. "And such a big party, too," the elf said. "Please pour me another glass of beer?" He reached his mug towards Sam, who obliged.

Romano wondered where England and Denmark were by now. He squirmed in his seat trying to find them, but this was a very big party, and there were hobbits everywhere, or hobbit actors, whatever the hell they were. He couldn't spot his friends.

He turned back to the conversation and found that someone had poured him a new beer. Romano's head felt slightly fuzzy, but he picked it up and began to sip from it, staring at Legolas' ears, trying to see a seam where the makeup artist had applied the fake tips. Dammit, they were really very well-done ears. He couldn't see a line.

The elf bastard started blabbing to Prussia, and suddenly Romano couldn't take it any longer. He _had to know! _With a cry of "Chigi!" he reached up and yanked on Legolas' ear.

"What are you doing?" The elf angrily jerked away from his grip.

Romano then turned to Gimli, who had rushed over, and tugged on his beard. "Fake beard! Fake damn ears!" he muttered. Why wouldn't they come off?

"What kind of behavior is that?" Gimli roared, grabbing Romano by the front of his shirt and shaking him.

Prussia grabbed Romano, swinging him out of the way, and tried to babble an apology, but the irritable Italian struggled in his arms, yelling, "Stupid filmmakers! Fake ears, fake fucking beards!"

The members of the Fellowship rallied in defense of their friends. While Legolas, now red-eared, merely frowned, all the others were boiling with rage. The pissed-off Merry jumped on the table and punched the albino in the face, just as Denmark and England pelted up to the scene. "Bloody _hell_, Romano," England snarled, grabbing his rude and drunk boyfriend from Prussia and flinging him to the ground. Romano scuttled under the table immediately.

By now this corner of the party had become a melee. The three remaining nations fought the legitimately angry Gimli, Merry, Pippin and Sam, while Legolas pleaded with them all to stop, insisting that their friend was merely drunk, that it was trivial. No one listened to him; they continued to fight and roar. Romano watched fearfully, hoping nobody would pull him out into the fight. _Dammit!_ Why couldn't he have kept his stupid hands to himself?

Several other hobbits tried to help Sam, Pippin and Merry against the albino potato and England, but the two nations threw the little people aside easily. It looked like Denmark, struggling against the dwarf, was the only one in serious trouble; that Gimli was a fighter, but so was Den. Hopefully his friend could beat the bastard.

Shit. Romano stayed under the table and watched, completely sober now. If this was the stupid movie set, they were toast, and England would probably be in huge trouble. Maybe he'd have to pay fines or something?

And if it wasn't the movie set? How the hell could they escape? He looked around and found the rucksack and England's staff, pulling them into his arms in preparation for a quick getaway.

Six hobbits piled on Prussia at once, knocking him to the ground, but he stood up with a roar and flung them all off at once like some kind of god emerging from a volcano. "Arthur! _Können wir fliegen?" (Can we fly?)_ Why the hell was he speaking German?

England's reply was also in that language. _"Muss die Kerze anzünden! Kannst es finden?"_ _(Have to light the candle! Can you find it?) _He punched Pippin in the face; the hobbit threw him to the ground and they began to wrestle.

"Den?_ Wo ist unser Beutel?" (Where is our bag?)_

"Under the table! With Romano!" The Viking bellowed this out in English, still struggling with Gimli.

"Romano! _Die Kerze finden!" (Find the candle!)_

Chigi, that albino bastard was a fucking irritant. "Shut up, you stupid potato! I don't want to speak your damn language! I've got it here."

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to light the damn – urgh – thing?" the island nation growled, taking a knee in the gut from Pippin. "Gilbert! Help me out," he begged.

Prussia dealt Merry a strong blow, knocking him backwards, and came to England's aid, shoving between his friend and Pippin. "Go. Make a distraction," he hissed. "Then they'll back off long enough to get away!" He began to fight, leaving England free to snag the bag and his staff from Romano and run to a space in the road.

A big hobbit that they hadn't met yet ran after him. Shit, Romano hoped they could all escape from this mess! He hoped that big bastard hobbit actor wasn't beating England up in the road. Anxious, he stayed hiding under the table, not able to see England, though Den and Prussia were still ferociously defending themselves. Then suddenly a roar went up from the crowd: a roar of awe, not of anger. The hobbits that Romano could still see stopped their fighting and turned around; most of them simply gave up what they were doing and loped off. What the fuck?

The albino potato threw off Pippin one last time; that hobbit, eye swollen shut, looked towards his family and friends, grinned, and ran off, calling out, "Come away, Merry! Fireworks! Just like in old Gandalf's time!"

Merry, who had been lying on the ground moaning, leaped up and smiled as well, chasing after his friend. Sam shook his head and followed. "Get out of here!" he yelled hoarsely over his shoulder, leaving a bemused Prussia standing bleeding and panting next to Legolas (who had not taken part in the fight at all), and Denmark still fiercely grappling with Gimli.

"Come on, wankers!" they heard. "Bring Romano!"

Denmark obligingly flung Gimli across the picnic table, where he fell with a thump. Then, bleeding, cursing, bruised, he and Prussia each bent down and grabbed one of Romano's arms, dragging him out from underneath the picnic table and running to England's side. There was the big hobbit that Romano had noticed before. He stood to the side, scowling, with his arms crossed, tapping a hairy foot as if waiting for something. But at least he wasn't fighting England.

"What do we do?" Den gasped, holding his side.

"Face the candle, hold hands." The island nation, bleeding as well, put the strap of the bag over his arm and handed the staff to Den, who tucked it under his arm. England took a hand each of Prussia and Romano, and began the chant to go home. The Italian watched the big hobbit frown, but at the last second he thought the bastard waved at them sadly.

…

They appeared in England's Sanctum within seconds. England dropped the rucksack and immediately swiveled to punch Romano in the nose. "Ow! You fucking _bastard!_ What the hell are you doing?" He tried to storm out of the room but Prussia grabbed him.

"You totally deserved that, Romano," he wheezed, flinging the half-nation against the bookcase. Ouch. Wow, the albino potato looked bad – a cut on his face oozed blood, and he had a black eye already.

Denmark nodded agreement. "What the hell was the matter with you?" He looked down at his torn, stained clothing, his bruised knuckles. "Shit, I'd expect something like that from Prussia, but not you. I thought you had manners." He pressed a hand to his ribs again. "Shit," he wheezed.

"Come on; let's all go up to the kitchen and get cleaned up." England, bleeding freely from his nose, tossed the rucksack into the corner of the room, lay his staff on the floor, and headed up the stairs, pressing the hem of his shirt to his face.

Romano followed slowly. At least it seemed nobody was going to hit him again. Fuck, his nose hurt! England was going to pay for that.

Or…well…maybe not. The blond looked pretty bad. Maybe Romano should go easy on him. It might make his own situation less painful, too. He knew he was in deep shit.

"Well? What the hell were you thinking?" Prussia asked, once they'd reached the kitchen.

"I – I'll talk to England about it later." He collapsed into a chair. "Who was that big guy?" he asked, trying to change the subject. "Bouncer kind of bastard?"

"Don't change the subject, git. You'll talk about it now, and you'll talk about it to all three of us. In case you hadn't noticed, we all fought to keep you safe, so you didn't have to get involved, though you started it. Tell us what the bloody hell you were thinking." England threw Prussia a dishtowel, which he soaked under cold tap water before dabbing at his face. "You pulled on his _ears?_"

"Whatever it was, it was stupid. You're a total _Arschloch_, Romano. No wonder nobody wants to be friends with you."

"Shut up, you stupid potato head." He hid his face in his hands. Shit, a whole afternoon full of lectures, he'd bet. Not that he didn't deserve it, though.

"Were you that drunk?" England wondered, finally mopping up his own injuries. "Here, Den, here's an ice pack." He handed this to Denmark. Then to Romano again, "I can't believe you could behave so bloody badly."

"Fake fucking movie bastards," the half-nation muttered.

"You've got to be kidding. You still think it was a setup?" Denmark alternated holding the bag to his ribs and then his temple. "Listen, why would England lie to you?"

"For a prank! You know how we are with each other. It's just so stupid. _Middle-Earth_." He snorted and then cradled his head in his hands, resting his elbows on the table. Fuck, yes, he knew he'd behaved badly. Yes, he could blame some of it on the beer, but in his heart he knew most of it was just due to his antagonism. He didn't want people to think he was stupid enough to fall for that shit!

Romano felt a gentle touch on his back and raised his head to see England standing beside him. Amazed, he watched as the blond knelt down next to his kitchen chair. "You should know I'd never try to – to trick you. Not after before." He could see England's cat collar, and he felt like the lowest of the low. "Even if I wanted to prank these two gits," his friend went on, "I'd only do it with your connivance. I did my best to provide a legitimate and unusual adventure for you all."

The brunet took a deep breath. "I – I know you meant well, bastard. All of you. I – I'm sorry I behaved so – so shamefully. It was stupid."

"But there's something more," England suggested, not a question.

He nodded. "N-nobody else really believes in your magic," he replied in a weak tone. "I hear nations always laughing about it, saying that all you really do is dress up in Harry Potter costumes and light incense and shit like that. I hate being the butt of jokes, hate it so much. And if the other nations found out – dammit, I can just imagine all the crap I'd hear about it. Even my idiot brother doesn't believe in your magic, and he believes in goddamn _tomato fairies_. I – I don't want to bring ridicule on myself." Romano still felt miserable, but knowing the pranks they'd played on others, how could he ever be sure this hadn't been a prank?

"And you didn't want to be tarred with the same brush," Denmark nodded, coming to sit at the table. "I can kind of understand that. If you 'fell for it,' as you say, then you'd look bad to a lot of nations, not just us."

"Well, that'd be true if, _if,_ Arthur had pranked all three of us, but it wasn't a prank!" Prussia took the third chair; England finally got off the floor and sat in the remaining chair. "It really was Middle-Earth. That big guy in the road was The Shire, wasn't he? Wasn't he?" he asked England eagerly.

"What?" Romano could not believe this. "Don't try to pull that shit."

"Yes, that was the personification of The Shire. I'd have liked to talk to him, but…no." He scowled at Romano. "Git."

Prussia frowned too. "That would have been awesome."

"Pfft. Yeah." Den kicked the leg of Romano's chair. "And I wanted to talk to Gimli some more, check out his axe."

Romano kept silent. His brain hurt; all these thoughts swirled around in his head and he couldn't think straight. "Fuck," he said, to let them know he wasn't falling for it.

The island nation cleared his throat and asked Romano, "Do you not want to go on any more adventures with us?"

Prussia blinked. "You mean you're still willing to take us, after this? That's cool."

"Well, you know, I do like hanging out with you wankers. And I like a bit of adventure in my life, and I like creating opportunities for you to have fun, too. We always seem to enjoy ourselves, and this is a little thing I can do that no one else can offer, like when you take us to the Nürburgring. Without this, I'd probably be sitting home alone a lot, when Romano was busy with you two."

Romano felt like a dick, at that. He'd not even considered England's rationale for this, or how he would feel if they all stopped having the adventures. Could he man up enough to deal with it properly? "I – I'm sorry," he repeated, rubbing his forehead, staring at the tabletop. "I was a total shithead. Didn't think about your feelings," he growled, trying to keep the emotion out of his voice. He was encouraged by this calm and rational discussion, instead of a lot of arguing, even though it made him feel so bad. Maybe he could be more flexible, he thought in misery. "C-could you prove it, though? Prove it was really Middle-Earth?"

All three of his friends thought about this. "I can't," England finally conceded. "There's nothing that happened today that could prove it was real. I'm sorry. It was real, and I know it, but I can't offer you proof."

"Well. What about this?" Prussia leaned his chair back on its rear legs, grinning. "Next time – if Romano is willing to go – we go to a place that's more unusual. Like, maybe Oz, or Narnia, or some other place with magical creatures that don't exist here?"

"We could do that. If you meet a talking animal – one that could absolutely not be an actor in a costume – and speak with him, or her, will that convince you?"

"But you have to promise to behave!" Denmark admonished.

Romano reached out his hands to England and Denmark, smiling bravely at the albino potato who sat across from him. "Let me sleep on it, bastards, okay? I'll let you know in the morning." Dammit. He had deserved that punch, but he didn't deserve such supportive and understanding friends.

…

_Of course he's going to say yes._

_I have realized that it would be idiotic to try to stick with the magical worlds' canon. That would mean that a trip to Hogwarts would be all about Harry's kids, etc., which I don't want to write, and you probably don't want to read. It also means that I'd have to finish reading the entire canon of Oz (fourteen novels!), which is a huge amount of research. _

_Arschloch = asshole_


	84. The Emerald City I

_Nobody's reviewing this arc except Sora-Chan222. I hope this doesn't mean everyone else is hating it!_

…

**The Emerald City I.** (The Wonderful Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum)

"I wish I knew where he was taking us," Prussia laughed, as the three friends headed towards London. "He told me I could wear whatever I wanted!" He gestured towards the tie-dye hoodie, this time paired with black jeans and green high-top sneakers, the sunglasses perched on his head.

Denmark wore the basics: red tee, black jeans, boots. "I know. It's bound to be fun if he's letting me bring my cultural artifact." He patted the axe's handle.

Romano just grunted, which put Prussia and Den on instant alert. "Now, listen, Romano. No beer! You've got to behave today. Got to!"

"I know, stupid. I plan to. As for _beer_…pfft."

"Do you know where we're heading?"

"No fucking idea." He wore all black, as usual. "We'll find out soon enough."

When they rang England's doorbell, the door swung mysteriously open, with the island nation nowhere in sight. "Uh…Arthur?"

"Muhahahaha!" he laughed, from somewhere. They couldn't spot him. "Go into the kitchen, wankers," he added, in his regular voice.

"Dammit," Romano whispered, clinging to Den for protection as they squeezed into the small kitchen. "I hate this spooky shit."

"Boo," England said softly, behind them.

Both Romano and Denmark jumped, though Prussia stayed calm. "Hey, how are you?" He hugged the blond. "You look like a leprechaun." Deep green in color, his casual clothes matched his eyes.

His friends snorted with laughter while England scowled. "I have my reasons. Shut it."

"Yes, all right, Arthur. Sorry."

"I know. Anyway, are you all ready? Romano? Going to behave?"

"Yes, yes, yes, I promise." He gave England a brief hug. "I don't want to piss you off again, or get you all beat up."

"Hey!" Prussia corrected with a grin. "_We_ are the ones who do the beating up! Kesesese!"

"Cheh, whatever. Where are we going, bastard?"

The blond beamed at them, gesturing towards the basement stairs. "We're off to see the Wizard."

…

"Woohoo!" Prussia stood in amazement, because they had simply appeared in the middle of the busy Emerald City street and no one had given them a second glance. "Arthur, this is still so cool!" He spun in place, staring at all the scurrying people, busy with their day jobs, or whatever. "Why isn't anyone paying attention to us?"

"We're invisible, at the moment."

Den and Prussia gaped, but Romano snorted. "Prove it."

"Simple. Go talk to someone. Or walk in front of a horse, or a person. Just don't do anything to disrupt them."

The Italian shrugged, but nervously made his way to a soldier or guard type of man standing at the side of the road with a pike in his hand. The man, wearing little round green glasses, yawned. "Excuse me," Romano said loudly; the man jumped and whipped his head around, as if trying to find the source of the words.

Romano shook his head and stood right in the man's field of vision, waving back and forth, but it truly seemed as though he was invisible. England dragged the other two to his side, gently plucking the now-silent half-nation's sleeve and shifting him away from the guard. "Watch out, I'm going to make us visible." He shook his hands free of the sleeves of his sweater, and then performed a complicated wave and a two-syllable chant.

Nothing looked any different, but the guard leaped back in alarm, because they'd materialized very close to him. "Oh!" Prussia grabbed him to steady him. "Are you all right? Sorry. Didn't mean to scare you."

The man seemed to recover, but before he could speak, Romano poked England. "This isn't the Emerald City," he pointed out. "It's not green." And that was true. Trees had typical brown trunks, people wore vibrant, many-colored clothing, and standard-colored horses pulled plain wooden carts. Red poppies grew by the side of the road, and a white chicken pecked its way along the gutter, searching for food.

"Of course the city is green," the guard said, somewhat warily, his gaze flicking from the manic, bouncing Prussia to the blade of Denmark's axe, towering over their heads.

"Cheh, it is to you, because you're wearing green glasses!"

The man blinked. "Oh, of course. You four are breaking the law. You must wear green glasses."

"Well, that sucks," Den laughed, "because we don't have any." He turned to England. "Unless you brought some?"

"No, but we should be able to get some at the gate. Come along. Thanks for the reminder," he called back to the guard as they hurried away. "And please moderate your language here," he asked his friends, eying Romano specifically.

"I'm confused," the brunet admitted, nodding to acknowledge the request. "I always thought the Emerald City was green. Thus the name 'Emerald'?"

But he remained calm, if sarcastic, and the other three were proud of him. "Well, there is a bit of a continuity problem," the island nation explained as they walked. "Baum, you know, the author, he – he didn't always remember what he'd seen, or something. I'm not even sure how many times he visited. His first book told of Dorothy and her friends meeting the Wizard, right? That's what they used for the famous movie." He waited for confirming nods before continuing. "At that time, he wrote that the Emerald City was not really green, but that the Wizard made everyone wear the green glasses. But in later books he wrote that it was in fact built of emeralds and gold, and he never mentioned the green glasses again. I – I have only been here once before, and it was like this, and so I have to wonder whether he embellished the truth for his readers. That was a rather poor era, and maybe these fantastic tales of great wealth ignored were a way to drum up readership and sell more books. Escapism, with a luxurious twist."

"You know what," Prussia suggested. "It was fun not knowing where we were going to end up today, but I think you should tell us ahead of time from now on. Then we could read the books or watch the movies, or whatever."

"That's a great idea, T. K." Den patted his head. "Get a little vacation research done, sort of."

"All my ideas are great ideas."

Predictably, Romano snorted at that; England patted his shoulder. "You're doing well," he whispered.

"Bastard," the brunet hissed with a grin, low enough that no natives could overhear.

However, nobody paid much attention to them as they walked, except to keep an eye on the axe, until they reached the gate. "Here, now!" the gate guard bellowed. "You're breaking the law!"

"We are aware of it," England said calmly. "We hoped you might have some spare glasses for travelers."

"Oh." He seemed taken aback. "Y-yes, I do. Thank you for asking." He held out a box full of green spectacles and each of the nations put on a pair; Prussia had to hang his own sunglasses from his collar.

"Thanks!" Den shook the man's hand after he'd put them on. "Wow. It really is emerald now."

"Well? Well? What do we do now?" Prussia danced along the road.

"I suppose you want to meet some famous Oz people, yeah? Let's go to the palace." England gestured towards the center of the city.

"You look funny in those little round glasses," the albino laughed.

"And you don't? Shut it."

They walked in silence, with all three of the Skirmish Brothers gawking at everything they'd seen so far. "This still doesn't prove it," Romano pointed out.

"Prove what?" a soft, sweet voice said from nearby. "Visitors in the Emerald City seeking proof of something?"

The four travelers stopped walking and looked around for the source of the voice. Then England got a grin on his face and walked to the side of the road, leaning against a green lamppost. "Well? What is it?" Denmark asked, hurrying after him. Prussia followed, but Romano stayed in the road, eyes narrowed, while he searched for the speaker.

England jerked his chin towards the dust at his boyfriend's feet. "Look there."

All of them glanced down at the street. Something sat there – stood there – something? Like a mirage, shifting and twisting, difficult to see. Prussia squinted, but Romano apparently had a better view. "An invisible cat?" he asked, hands on hips. "That's a good one. Where's the ventriloquist?"

"I'm not 'invisible,'" the cat pointed out acerbically. "I'm _glass._ Transparent. See? You can see my ruby heart, and as for my eyes, they're emerald."

Romano shrugged and bent down to peer at it. "Yes, they are," he conceded. "And you're the one talking to me?" His friends watched with bated breath, hoping he wouldn't explode or do something rude.

"Of course I am," the cat replied. "Read my lips."

He laughed. "Cats don't have lips."

This evoked a sneer from the transparent feline. "You are aware of what I meant, I'm sure." She absently groomed a glass paw with a clear tongue before turning back to him and asking, "Are you going to introduce yourself?"

"Kesesese! He's doing very well!"

"I heard that, ba-Prussia." The brunet hunkered down and extended his hand to the cat. "My friends call me Romano."

She tilted her head before generously placing a paw into the palm of his hand. "And I am known as Bungle."

"Bungle? That's a weird name for such a beautiful creature," Den burst out.

The cat looked at the three of them by the side of the road, and then back to Romano. "I might be persuaded," she offered, "to allow you to carry me, and then I can talk to all your friends more easily?"

Romano seemed to understand that the cat considered this a great honor, and so he replied, "I would be delighted, _Signorina_ Bungle." He held out his arms and she crept daintily into them, settling down as he rose to his feet.

Prussia and Denmark hurried over. "Wow! So you're an awesome talking cat."

"I did just say that," she pointed out.

Den laughed. "May I pet you? We have no glass cats at home."

"You may," she condescended. Den and Prussia took turns petting her, and her purrs grew louder as she nestled into the snug hold of Romano's arms.

"Hey," that nation called to England, who had stayed by the lamppost. "Coming over here, or what?"

He pushed himself up and joined them. "Good morning, Miss Bungle. My name is England, and these are my friends Denmark and Prussia."

"Kesesese! Pleased to meet you!"

"You mentioned wanting proof? Proof of what?" She turned her elegant head towards Romano, who had the grace to blush.

"Never mind," he stammered, "I – I think I got my proof."

Prussia cackled with laughter and petted the glass head again. "Wow – you're actually purring!"

"It's quite comfortable in Romano's arms."

At that, Romano blushed again, and England smiled fondly at him, raising his eyebrows. "Ah, come along, gits. Let's go to the palace."

The brunet, with Bungle, dawdled in the back of the group, and they could hear them speaking to each other, but Den had a different concern. "L. Frank Baum was American, right? So, has America ever been here?"

"Hey, yeah! Awesome question, even though I'm the brains of this group."

England snorted before responding. "America is the most lazy-arse wanker that ever lived. He just keeps recycling the same old stuff, and embellishing it a little, instead of coming back to do actual new research. He says he 'can't be bothered,' even though he keeps making Oz-related entertainment."

"I did notice that. Not just with Oz," Den admitted, "but he recycles a lot of stories and plots."

"Be fair, though. Arthur does too. Everything always seems to go back to Shakespeare."

"You really are a git, Gilbert. Anyway, it's just up here." The island nation gestured to the palace and turned back to make sure Romano was all right.

Apparently he was. He and the cat, deep in conversation, didn't even notice. "Hey! Romano!" Denmark reached the axe back and poked his friend in the shoulder with the butt end. "Pay attention so you don't get lost."

"S-sorry. Miss Bungle was just telling me about some m-m-magical tomatoes they have around here." He blushed so deeply that even the cat chuckled.

"You do love your tomatoes," Prussia conceded. "Maybe we can find them later? But we're almost at the palace now."

"And," the cat said softly, "while it's very gentlemanly of you to call me 'Miss' Bungle, it's not strictly necessary." She made a noise that sounded like a discreet cough, placing her paw in front of her mouth.

"Very well," the brunet smiled. "'Bungle' it is."

Together the four friends and the cat stepped into the palace grounds. "This is pretty nice," Denmark said, looking around nonchalantly.

Hah. Prussia knew that look. Bet Den was trying not to look like a tourist! "Kesesese! Hey, we should have made some kind of a bet."

"What kind of a bet?" Den asked with interest, while England rolled his eyes.

"I don't know. How come I always have to come up with the awesome bets? Let's try to think of one for next time, though."

"Suits me. Romano?"

"Cheh, sure, whatever, bas—you guys."

They all laughed and then entered the palace itself, which had many people – these dressed in actual green (Prussia knew this because he kept pushing his green glasses down to check on things) – thronging around. "Step over there," the cat directed Romano, and he beckoned his smiling friends with a jerk of his head.

Inside a large, empty, quiet room, they found four seats in a row along one wall, and sank gratefully into them. Den propped the axe against the wall, and Romano helped the informative Bungle to sit on his lap. "What room is this?" he asked her, turning to England in case he knew. "Why have such a big room with nothing in it?" A long pillared corridor stretched away from them, leading to somewhere so distant that they couldn't make it out.

But before he got his answer, the Doppler sound of an approaching scream startled them all, although Bungle did not run off. A very young blond girl ran right up to Romano and slapped him in the face, still screaming incoherently.

"What? What the hell? I mean, I – uh – " He stood up abruptly and Bungle leaped gracefully to the floor, moving off to the side.

"What's going on here?" Den stood up and loomed over the screaming child.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! How dare you make fun of my friends!" she yelled, shoving him away. "You can't hold a candle to them. _Courage_, hah!" She kicked the panicked, frozen Romano, this time, before turning to Den and shrilly shrieking, "A heart! A _heart!_ You have no heart! Nobody with a heart could do this, you meanie!" She shoved him again and, amused, he let himself fall back into the chair. Then, to Prussia: "If you did have a brain, you wouldn't dare mistreat this poor cat inside the palace!" She kicked his shin for good measure. And finally to England: "And you call yourself a _wizard_? You couldn't _stop_ 'em? Come along, Bungle, do!"

Denmark, to stop her hurting his friends, brought his axe down between her and them like a gate, still trying to remain polite, though Prussia could tell he was getting irritated by the noise. "Stop."

But this action made things worse. Her shouts changed to an arbitrary shrill scream, high and panicky, and she ran off. "I'm going to tell Ozma about you! How dare you threaten me with an axe? You'll be in big trouble! Mocking my friends! An _axe! _Help, Ozma!_" _ Comments of a similar nature dwindled as she ran away down the long corridor.

Romano stood staring, his eyes wide and breathing labored, the mark of her handprint reddening on his face; Den rested the axe against the wall again.

"Wh-what on earth was all that about?" Prussia wondered, watching her run off. He bent down to rub his bruised calf. "Iggy?"

Bungle hadn't left, though. "I do apologize," she said, calmly, pacing back and forth. "You meat people are so emotional. I don't get emotional, you see, because I'm glass. No glands."

"Who was that little girl?"

"That? That was the Princess' best friend. Her name's Dorothy."

Prussia's jaw dropped. "Th-_that_ was _Dorothy?_ But she was just a little girl!" He'd always thought of Dorothy as – well, as Judy Garland.

"Dorothy is only eleven," Bungle pointed out. "As such, apparently she has more emotional mood swings than older people. I can't be certain but it always seems that way. I never cared enough to find out." She began grooming her ears.

"Why the h—why did she smack me?" Romano finally wondered, rubbing his cheek.

"It sounded like she thought we were mocking her friends? My guess is she thought you were taking the mickey out of the Cowardly Lion." England didn't smirk at all, but Romano narrowed his eyes at that.

Den understood, though. "My axe. My axe! She thought I was making fun of the Tin Woodsman! And T. K. mocking the Scarecrow!" He hooted with laughter.

"Cheh, well, she got that right. No brains in there." Romano flopped back into the seat and flicked Prussia in the forehead.

"Ow," the albino laughed, giving Romano a little shove. "Seriously, though? That's kind of backwards. She didn't even give us a chance to explain, just ran right up and smacked Romano!"

"Well, she is only eleven, Gilbert. Little kids are like that. Remember when we were little?"

All four of them grew silent, thinking about the temperamental little kids they'd been. (Romano snorted, and Prussia knew just what he was thinking, so he winked.) "You're still a childish bastard," the brunet growled under his breath, rolling his eyes and laughing a little.

England's concerns were a little more immediate. "What's this Princess like?" he asked Bungle. "Are we actually likely to be in some kind of real trouble?"

"It's hard to say. Sometimes she's nice, but sometimes she's very arbitrary. I used to have the most beautiful pink brains – you could see 'em work – but she had them removed and replaced with clear ones, because she thought I was getting above my station." The cat coughed delicately. "It didn't daunt me at all. You see I'm just as beautiful. Possibly even more so, because the sight of the brains isn't there to distract my admirers."

But the four friends had stopped listening to Bungle's self-praise and all stood up together. Marching feet could be heard; a young woman dressed all in green advanced down the long corridor at the head of a small group of twelve well-dressed soldiers. "Uh – ba-uh – England? Maybe we ought to get out of here?"

But Denmark's axe flew away by magic and landed in the outstretched hand of a soldier, who passed it to the back of the group. The princess Ozma, a tall and slender girl, stepped forward and announced, "You are hereby under arrest for carrying weaponry in the palace and threatening our citizens! Take them to the jail!"

"Wait, wait, please wait a minute, please," England argued, stepping forth, hands up in protest. "We have come in good faith to visit your –"

"And I need my axe –"

"_Take them to the jail!_" she demanded, and the soldiers hastened to do her bidding. Two of them went with her – taking Den's axe – and the other ten escorted the prisoners away.

"Hey, wait, you stupid –"

Den clapped his hand over Romano's mouth and held him while he struggled. "Don't make it worse."

Romano went limp and nodded, so Denmark let go of him. "Come on," he hissed to England. "Uh – _lass uns gehen?" (Let's go?)_

"No speaking in code," one of the soldiers rapped out.

"No speaking at all," another one said.

_Scheisse,_ Prussia thought. Now what?

…

_One of the most disconcerting things about the Oz books is how frequently Baum referred to humans and other non-magical creatures as "meat" or "meat people." Apparently he'd once written a chapter where vegetable people "grew" human children in a garden for food, but the publishers made him take that out!_

_'The Patchwork Girl of Oz' was the first Oz book I ever read, so Bungle (and Scraps) are two of my favorite characters._

_Next time a nation tries to set up a talent show, I'm guessing Prussia will push for an Oz skit. I hadn't realized how nicely these four slot into those roles until I started writing this chapter. _


	85. The Emerald City II

**The Emerald City II.**

Five minutes later the four of them had been "incarcerated" in a nice green manor home on the outskirts of the city. The soldiers flung them into soft, comfortable couches in a large library with a roaring, applewood-scented fire. "This is prison?" Prussia asked in disbelief.

"Yes."

"Prisons are supposed to be cold and miserable," Romano pointed out. "To punish the prisoners."

"Shh! Don't give them ideas!"

But the head soldier laughed. "That's a sure way to make a criminal stay a criminal. We hope that by treating you well, you'll see the error of your ways, and want to go straight." He saluted. "The home is under guard. Do not attempt to escape."

They listened to the sound of retreating boots and then as if by instinct congregated in the center of the library. "Well? Can we get out of here?" Romano wondered quietly.

England shook his head no. "Can't. Can't go without Denmark's axe. We can't leave anything here, and we can't take anything away from the magical worlds, either. We'll have to figure out some way to get it back, and as soon as we do, we can go."

"This sucks big-time." Den flopped into a chair.

The brunet scowled at him from across the room. "Why'd you bring the damn thing, anyway?"

"Hey, I'm a fighter, Romano! Just shut up and think about how we can get the axe back."

Prussia had an idea. "Can you pull it to us by magic? Like Harry Potter does with his _Accio_ spell?"

"Could try it. Maybe you gits had better leave the room, so nobody accidentally gets his head cut off as the axe flies in." The island nation grinned mirthlessly.

"_Can_ we leave the room? Maybe we could just leave the house, despite what they said." Romano peeked out the window. "He said it was under guard, but I don't see anyone."

"Pfft. Don't risk it. If they split us up we could be in real trouble. Plus we still wouldn't have the axe, and we don't know where to get it." England shooed the three of them towards a different door. "See if there's anything to eat in here, or some tea. I'll call you when I've got it."

They left the room. "Shit."

"Kesesese! Better get all your swearing out, while we have the chance." They found a kitchen; Prussia and Den began to rummage in cabinets (which all seemed to be empty).

"Fucking stupid shithead potato." But they could all tell Romano's heart wasn't in it. "At least you can't blame this one on me."

"True. Well, there's nothing in here," the Viking said, slamming the last cabinet door. "Fuck."

England appeared. "No go."

"What? Why?"

"Guess my magic's different, that's all." He pulled out a kitchen chair and sat. "I wonder what's going to happen next."

"Arthur, tell me something. I've been wondering about this and I didn't pay much attention on the Shire day. How much time passes in the real world, while we're here? If we stayed overnight, would it be tomorrow when we got back?"

"Time is time," the island nation sighed. "Nothing can slow it or change it." He flashed his wristwatch at them. "No matter where we go, no matter what we do, that clock, the clock in London, is always running**."**

"So…if we don't come back tonight, West will worry?"

"Pfft. Depends. What did you tell him?"

"I didn't tell him anything, because I didn't know where we were going!"

Romano kicked him. "Stupid. He'll probably just think we're on a drinking binge or something."

"Oh, right! Kesesese! Didn't think of that."

Denmark laughed. "We need to do that again one of these days."

"Shh." England held up his hand for silence. "Someone's coming."

Strange quiet footsteps approached from outside on the gravel. "Bungle, maybe?" Den wondered. "Someone lightweight. Not a soldier."

They heard a knock at the door, so the four of them walked out to answer it.

"Whoa, the awesome Scarecrow!" Prussia yelled with a grin, reaching out to shake his hand. "And – and – and – someone I don't know! Come in!"

"Git. This isn't a home for us to entertain in."

But the grinning Scarecrow and his companion pushed forward into the house. "It's quite all right," he told them, shooing them towards the library. "I've spoken with Ozma and have gotten permission to come visit you."

His companion, a garishly-colored person that they might have called 'Scarecrow-ish,' now spoke.

"One and three and two  
>We're here to talk to you!<br>A bunch of fuss  
>Has come to us<br>And this is nothing new!"

She bowed.

"Wh-who?" Romano managed.

"Oh! Forgive me, do," the Scarecrow told them all. "May I present my charming companion, Miss Scraps Patchwork."

England introduced the friends. "We're terribly sorry to have caused any trouble. We merely came to see the sights. My friend's axe is actually considered a cultural artifact." All four nations suppressed smiles.

"Hmm." The Scarecrow gestured to them to sit, and everyone did so, staring at this famous character and his oddball companion.

Scraps was indeed patchwork – it appeared as though she'd been sewn together out of an old quilt, and when they shook her hand it felt like a glove stuffed with cotton. She had a most unusual expression on her face – almost goggle-eyed – and acted extremely deferential towards the Scarecrow, whom she clearly adored. "What are we gonna do now?" she asked him. "They're probably not really in trouble. Ozma likes to overreact and ask questions later."

"Hmm," the Scarecrow said again, his straw crackling. "If only the Wizard were here, he could tell us what to do."

"Kesesese! I thought you were the famous brains of the outfit! Why do you need the Wizard to help you?" Prussia leaped up and shook his hand again. This was awesome! He and the Scarecrow stood in the center of the room, grinning and shaking madly, and then the straw man's hand fell off. "Uh? Whoops!" The albino held it in the air, wildly embarrassed.

"Oh, don't worry about it," the Scarecrow told him, reaching out with his other hand to take it back, while the four nations stared in amazement, holding their breath. "Happens all the time. I can get someone to sew it back on for me."

"Y-you're sure?" Wow, Prussia was really relieved. He'd been afraid this would make their 'jail' stay even longer!

"Yes, it's fine." He put the hand into a pocket. "Remind me to get that taken care of," he told Scraps.

"It's that Dorothy's fault," Scraps said unwisely. "It always is. She goads Ozma into these snap decisions. I talked to Bungle before we got here and she confirmed it. If she hadn't done that, your elegant hand would still be attached!"

The Scarecrow turned to her in distress. "Please don't speak ill of my friend Dorothy!"

"You know it's true." She cleared her throat and began another one of her quirky poems.

"Dorothy likes to shout,  
>She lets her temper out.<br>If she don't stop  
>I'll take a mop<br>And hit her on the snout! Ha ha!"

Scraps applauded her own recitation. The still-embarrassed Prussia wondered if he should clap too, just to be friendly, but by the time he'd decided to do it, the Patchwork Girl had begun pacing the room, examining all the knick-knacks and standing well clear of the fire.

"Look, this isn't solving anything." England's distress was clear to see. He appealed to the Scarecrow. "We don't want to cause trouble, and we don't want to be _in_ trouble. If we could just get Denmark's axe back, we'd go." Romano looked sad at this, but nobody wanted to get into a big discussion right now. Maybe he wanted to say goodbye to Bungle?

The Scarecrow paced some more. "We could bring you the axe," he finally said. "I can distract the guards while Scraps heroically dodges in to fetch it, and once we were out of the palace nobody would bother us."

"Awesome, a stealth mission! Can I help?"

"Red-eyed man, you're a prisoner," the Scarecrow pointed out. "Stay here. Obey the law."

"Such as it is," Scraps added absently, picking up a china cherub.

"Do you think you could manage to obtain the axe, my dear?" The straw man eyed her anxiously.

She simpered. "Since you have such faith in me, I'm certain that I can." She tapped her fingers against her lips. "Bungle might help. She seemed very fond of you all."

"We made her purr," Prussia laughed.

Both the visitors stared in astonishment. "That's amazing," the Scarecrow confessed. "She's never usually happy enough to purr."

Romano smirked, but Scraps added, "She's just an old sourpuss. I bet she avoids purring just to spite us all."

The friends all grinned at this. "So you'll try to get his axe for us?" England asked, still trying to focus. "What happens if the plan fails?"

"My plans never fail," the Scarecrow announced, one finger pointing to the sky.

"Huh. I've heard that before." Romano muttered this loudly enough for all his friends to hear, but nobody rose to it.

"I guess we'll just wait here, then." Denmark sat back onto a couch. "How soon could we expect you back?"

"We can go right now, unless Scraps is tired?" He turned to her in concern.

"Not tired at all," she replied, standing to recite poetry once more.

"We're gonna get that axe  
>Unless it's made of wax.<br>Then it would bend  
>Which would depend<br>On getting all the facts!"

"That's so brilliant that it doesn't even make sense," the Scarecrow told her admiringly, taking her hand. "Come along. Let's go."

"We'll be back," she sang out as they left the manor house.

When the door had closed behind them, Romano snorted. "Can't believe you ripped his hand off."

"But at least it proves he's real! Arthur, you've done it again."

"I know, git."

"Anyway, I bet they're not going to be any help." Romano fiddled with the cushions on the couch.

"Are you kidding? They awesomely will. You know he's famous for his brains. Bet he's an amazing strategist."

"Yeah, all right." The half-nation fell back into a couch. "We'll see."

England slouched over and sat next to him, nudging him with his knee. "Don't worry. It's just a little mix-up. Even if they don't manage to bring it tonight, I'm sure we can explain things to Ozma in the morning and get it straightened out."

"I hope we're not here too long. I have municipal meetings all week long." Den wandered around the room much as Scraps had done, looking at book titles on the shelves and scowling.

"Kesesese! What would you rather be doing, having adventures in Oz or going to municipal meetings?" Prussia pinched his cheek.

"Going to municipal meetings!" Den roared. "Some of us actually have responsibilities, you know!"

Prussia sucked in a breath. A fight? At least a fight would help pass the time until they could get out of here. Clearly Romano didn't agree, though, because he barked out, "Yeah, albino potato, so shut the fuck up."

"What? What? Man, are you two crabby. I want to get out of here and go see more of Oz. This is the second adventure where we've gotten in trouble. I can't believe you two keep getting us into trouble!"

England sighed. "Okay, new rule. No weapons. I shouldn't have said you could bring it. Sorry, wasn't thinking. I thought it would fit right in."

"No weapons," Den agreed sadly. "I hope they don't – don't enchant it, or something, to make it different. I've had that thing since the eighth century."

"That would be very rude," the island nation said.

"More rude than throwing us in a damn jail?" Romano punched him. "This place is fucked up."

"I agree. It's not what I'd expected." England turned back to Den. "Check the bloody thing thoroughly when you get it back. If it's not right, we can stay longer and get things squared away. You might miss your first meeting, but at least this would be out of the way, and we'd have learned our lesson."

"Yeah. Okay."

…

The Scarecrow and Scraps came back with Bungle, but without the axe. "Dammit," Romano muttered, before Bungle leapt into his lap and settled down. Absently, he started stroking her smooth glassy body, waiting to see what would happen next.

"Don't worry. Don't worry a bit," the Scarecrow announced, waving both hands. "I got my hand reattached, and Scraps did a great job! She pinched the axe right out from under the guard's nose!" He beamed with pride.

"Well, but the guard was my friend Ojo," she explained, "so I did tell him I was taking it. But I promised he wouldn't get in trouble."

The straw man nodded. "True, true."

"Well, where's the axe?" Den demanded. This was so frustrating!

"Ah! Don't worry, tall man. Don't worry. Someone with a vested interest in axes is bringing it here."

"What do you mean?"

But Prussia had figured it out. "The awesome Tin Woodsman is bringing your axe, I bet."

"Correct! He wanted to examine it; it's quite ornate." The straw man skipped over to the albino and patted his white hair. "Are you sure you don't have straw in there? Because your thoughts are clearly of a very high caliber, nearly as high as mine!"

"Kesesese! Not straw, no matter what Romano may say." He gave the brunet a big smile; Romano snorted. "Still, it's logical."

"We will dodgical the logical and save the anthropological day!"

"Miss Scraps, you are very funny." Prussia shook her hand in his enthusiasm, being careful not to rip it off her arm.

Bungle coughed. "Funny is not as good as beautiful," she said, without even a hint of modesty.

"Not true!" he argued. "Funny is forever, but beauty fades." At this, Scraps smirked at the cat, sticking out her tongue.

"Not so," Bungle countered. "I'll always be beautiful; not being meat, I'll never age."

"Ha, but neither will I, Miss Cat!" Scraps poked her in the glass cheek. "I'll be funny _and_ beautiful, forever."

If the Scarecrow's eyes could shine, they would have. "Indeed you will." He patted Scraps on her patchwork head.

"Me too!" Prussia tried to twirl around in the room, but it was too crowded; then everyone got distracted by the ringing of the doorbell.

"It's him!" the Scarecrow yelled, running off.

"My axe!" Den pelted after him.

Romano sagged back into the couch cushions. "This is exhausting, ba—England," he moaned. "I just want to go home."

But then the Tin Woodsman and the Cowardly Lion both entered the small library. "Oh, dear," Bungle mewed, before leaping off Romano and running out of the room, possibly scared of getting broken in the crush.

"What have you hooligans done to make our friend Dorothy so angry?" The Lion put up his fists, glancing around as if to challenge someone, but the Tin Man pushed him aside.

"Stop all that posturing. Here is the axe," he said, and Denmark plucked it from his metal hand in relief. "It's beautiful. Quite an antique, I'd say."

"You have no idea," Prussia laughed, as Den examined it minutely.

Romano's plaintive voice floated out to them, though he was no longer visible in the crowd. "Can we please go now?"

"Calm down, git. Let's introduce ourselves like gentlemen."

"Cheh, yes, all right."

When the introductions had been performed, the Scarecrow suggested they go out onto the lawn, since the little 'prison' was so crowded.

"But we're prisoners," England said with a delicate frown. "Won't we get in trouble?"

"Not if you're leaving Oz," the straw man pointed out. "Come outside and talk for a few minutes. Even if someone sends a runner to Ozma, by the time they got back with new orders, you could be gone. And she won't really punish us."

"Not _us,"_ the Tin Man agreed.

Everyone agreed this was a sensible approach, so the group headed out to the front lawn. No soldiers were visible, but Prussia knew that if he were the ruler, he'd have them hidden, or camouflaged. Who knew what type of magic might be used to conceal soldiers?

This thought obsessed him. Magic camouflage! West's army could really use some info like that. Maybe he'd ask Arthur about it when they got back.

Or maybe not. Maybe it'd just invite more trouble. He could just imagine invisible soldiers bonking into each other, poking each other with guns, because they couldn't see each other. Hah, how stupid. Forget the invisible soldiers!

Prussia saw Bungle creep silently out of the house and crossed to her side, since everyone else was in the middle of a conversation. "Thanks for your help today."

"It was nothing, really. A minor consideration. Things get a bit boring around here for us as well."

"I hadn't thought about that. Ever been out of Oz?"

She looked up at him disdainfully. "Where in the world could be worth going to, after living my life in Oz?"

Prussia could find no answer to that, and admitted it. "Hey, Gilbert!" he heard.

"I have to go. Thank you for your help," he repeated. "Live long and prosper! Kesesese!" He jumped up and ran to join his friends, pushing through the crowd. "Axe okay?" he hissed to Den, who nodded.

"Please stand back," England requested of the Oz residents; they did, and when the four nations had joined hands, he again spoke a short spell and they faded back to reality.

…

_Should have put this note in the second Shire chapter: I have them speaking German to each other for a couple of reasons. If we assume that all the magical worlds speak English, German works as a code language for them, and it's plausible that all four of them are fluent. England certainly is, with his historical ties to Germany; Denmark is right next to Germany geographically, so he'd have picked up on it (especially after beginning to date Prussia), and Romano could have picked it up during the Axis years and from his "hanging out with the potato bastard and Veneziano" times, too. Also, I used to be fluent, so it's easier for me to use German than, say, Danish or Italian, for this._

_Next: a planning session._


	86. Planning

_Haha, Sora-Chan222, everybody remembers how much research I did for that bloody house hunt! It crops up in reviews all the time. LOL._

_..._

**Planning.**

This month's meeting, here in Baltimore, had just adjourned for the first day's lunch; the friends had opted to stay in the room and make plans for their next journey. Prussia had volunteered to go get take-out (as long as someone else paid for it); while they waited for him, they argued. "I wanted to see the magical tomatoes," Romano now whined, sitting at the conference table.

"We _know,_" the other two snapped back. He'd been pestering them separately and together about those bloody tomatoes for three weeks now.

Denmark slapped his hand on the table. "Listen, we'll go back there someday and get Bungle to take us there, all right? But for now, let's go somewhere different."

"Don't make me put a spell on you to shut you up," England added with a smirk. "I know I promised not to, but honestly, you're driving me mental with this tomato business."

"Is there any other place likely to have magical tomatoes?" Romano turned sad eyes to his boyfriend…

…who snorted. "Not that I know of. Of course, I could be wrong, but there's no place that I can think of with such unusual flora as Oz."

"Where should we go? Come on, let's pick a place before Teutonic Knights gets back, or he'll try to pressure us into something."

"Pfft. Why not let him? We can keep this project going as long as you want. There's no limit." England leaned back in the chair, lacing his fingers together behind his head as he stared at the ceiling. "I'd like to get some actual adventures going, instead of just sitting around talking to people."

"I agree!" Den laughed. "It's cool to meet everyone, but I want to do magic stuff, see magic stuff that the place is famous for."

"Like the magical tomatoes."

_"Shut up!"_

Romano sighed again and rested his head on the table, addressing England. "Is there any particular place you'd care to go, bastard?"

"Nice of you to ask, but not really. I don't think I'd take you to a place I've not already visited, because we might get into even more trouble than before. I need to be confident in the lay of the land, so to speak."

"As long as the Viking bastard leaves the cutlery at home…"

"Shut up, Romano," Den told him wearily. "Just shut…the…fuck…_up_."

Thankfully, Prussia entered with the lunch to distract them from this. "Here."

"What took you so long?" Hands eagerly reached for food.

"America was there before me; he just kept ordering and ordering! Kesesese! Did we figure out where we're going next? I want to do my awesome movie research."

"Not yet." Romano sighed and dug into his Pad Thai.

"Hogwarts." Prussia nodded decisively. "Got to go there sometime."

Den shrugged. "Might as well, since we can't decide on anything else."

"Will the awesome Harry be there?"

"How the bloody hell would I know? Maybe he'll be there visiting or something. He's done with school, you remember."

"Yeah, I remember." Prussia crunched up an egg roll. "So basically it'd be teachers, and some of the younger kids? Could work out, or you could just take us shopping in Diagon Alley."

"Bastard, the only reason I'd want to go there is to meet Harry and his friends! What else is the point?"

"The point, Romano, is to have an adventure! We could – we could see the Whomping Willow, or play in a Quidditch game, or –"

"Oooh!" Denmark sat right up straight. "I would love to play Quidditch!"

"Kesesese, sure, you would make an awesome Beater, because it's like swinging your axe around and whacking your enemies. Heh."

"So for stuff like that, it wouldn't matter who the blasted students were." England licked soy sauce from his fingers, shrugging.

Den belched. "Could you notify Harry and his friends that we're coming, and would like to meet them there?"

"I…could do that!" The blond's eyes twinkled. "That would work out quite well, assuming they're all free to come visit the school. We could have a pick-up Quidditch game, probably. I know the school has plenty of brooms."

"Uh," Romano started.

"Don't worry, loverboy. You don't have to play if you don't want to. But I'd like to take you for a broom ride."

"Let's awesomely do that, then! Great thinking, Den. I'm going to have to watch out, or my title as Brains of the Group is going to pass to you."

Romano narrowed his eyes and stared. And stared some more. Then he, Denmark and England all began laughing. "Whatever you say, T. K. Whatever you say."

…

_Yep, Hogwarts next. _

_By the way, now that this is part of the main story, I'm considering leaving it open-ended and doing some other worlds later. Originally the story ended with England wiping out their memories by magic so they wouldn't pester him again, but I may change that._


	87. Hogwarts I

_This takes place between the end of the main Harry Potter series and the little epilogue. None of the main characters have kids yet, or anything like that. Let's make it the first summer after the stories ended._

_As of today, this is officially my longest story, beating out "Love and Art"!_

…

**Hogwarts I.** (The Harry Potter series, J. K. Rowling)

"Aw, yeah!" Prussia leaped into the air and spiked an imaginary volleyball as Arthur reached for his jacket. "Hey, hey, wait. Wait a second. Why are you wearing a jacket?"

"Moron. It's cold out." Romano kicked him.

"Oh, stop. I mean, look, he's leading us to the door. What the – Arthur, what are you doing?"

But Denmark had figured this one out. "We're taking the train, aren't we? Leaving from platform nine and three-quarters?"

"You got it." England poked Prussia in the arm. "Can't believe you, the great Hogwarts expert, didn't think of that."

"Shut up, will you? I wasn't thinking. Put your jacket on and let's go!"

…

The Skirmish Brothers were mildly surprised to find Bulgaria and Estonia loafing around the deserted platform. "Hey, bastards. What's going on?"

England gestured to a bench and sat. "They're coming with us."

"What? Why?" Denmark hastily backpedaled. "Not that I mind, just – why you guys? Why Hogwarts?"

Bulgaria beamed. "You're going to play Quidditch, right? I – have a friend meeting us there."

The island nation and Estonia stifled grins as the other three tried to work it out; just as Prussia yelled "Viktor Krum!" the train pulled in, and they all boarded, laughing and stuffing themselves into one compartment.

"That's cool! I just – England is being so good to us," Den said, patting him on the head. "Thank you."

"Hey, you take us to bakeries, git, I'll take us to magical worlds."

Romano snorted. "No bakeries, dammit. Tell me about Quidditch."

"Kesesese! You didn't do any of your homework, did you?"

The brunet scowled at Prussia. "Yes, you moron, I did, but there's so much to keep track of! How the fuck can I be expected to play if I can't remember any of it?"

"I didn't actually think you'd play, though. Thought you'd chicken out and chat up Hermione in the stands while we awesomely zoom around on broomsticks."

"I'm going to take him for a test flight," England explained. "So he can decide."

Romano turned to England, red-faced. "Uh, that reminds me, bastard. Y-you didn't tell the – the Hogwarts people anything about any boyfriend shit, did you?"

"Of course not, wanker. Why would I do that?"

"Kesesese! If they wondered why you're going to take him up on a romantic broomstick flight, it could be a problem."

"Gilbert, you arse. No. I just told them he'd been resisting our efforts to show him some magic, and that I'd need to take him on a test flight to see if he could deal with flying. Nothing romantic about it." But the island nation was a bit pink, too.

Romano cleared his throat. "I'm – I'm not actually sure yet if I'll play the game or not. But I'd like to try." Den, nearest him, gave him a little hug, and he scowled again.

"Who's coming to see us?" Estonia wondered. "Besides Mr. Krum."

Bulgaria laughed and patted his friend on the arm with a gloved hand. "You don't have to call him Mister Krum. 'Viktor' will be fine."

"Viktor, then. Who else?"

"You know what? I bet Ron's dad will come, if he knows about it." Prussia nodded sagely.

"What? Why him?"

"You know he's crazy about Muggle stuff, right? Plugs and things, phones, escalators? Muggle stuff is rare in his world."

"Not so rare anymore," England pointed out. "The lines aren't so cleanly drawn."

Denmark agreed. "I always wondered how they could even function in the world with so little, uh, cross-contamination from Muggles? When they went to the big Quidditch World Cup or whatever, all the older wizards were dressed like total freaks, and I just can't see how they could get to that age and never once quite grasp what ordinary people wore. They do pass through the city, right?"

Estonia nodded, too. "It makes me wonder what the Hogwarts students used to wear under their robes. Harry and all the students in the books wore regular clothes with the robe over it like a coat, but – if they were trendsetters, what was the trend before them? Underwear?" He blushed a little and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"Maybe that was more author bullshit. Like with the Emerald City." Romano shrugged.

"You've been to the Emerald City?" Estonia's voice rose to a squeak. "Was it wonderful?"

"Hah! We ended up in prison," Den laughed.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey!" Prussia stood up in the compartment, angry. "Doesn't anybody want to know why Ron's dad will be so excited to meet us?"

"Whatever, bastard. Sit down, calm down, and tell us why."

The albino tried to maintain a pout as he sat, but couldn't. "Well. Like I said. He's crazy for Muggle stuff. Well, we, my friends, we are even _rarer_ than Muggles. Even Muggles don't really know about us, right? So, he wouldn't pass up this chance to meet four – uh, six nations."

"Maybe."

"About that," England said. "They all call me Arthur. All right? How do you want to be introduced?"

"Awesomely as Gilbert, you know that."

"Yes, I knew that. What about the rest of you gits?"

"Human names are fine with me," Estonia smiled, and the rest of them agreed, except Romano, who hated his stupid human name.

Before they could argue that point, the train pulled into Hogsmeade station, and the six nations tumbled down onto the platform, eager to get their visit started.

…

Viktor Krum did indeed meet them at the gates to the school, where he immediately greeted Bulgaria without touching him. But the Balkan nation reached out a gloved hand to shake his citizen's hand, and Viktor smiled in astonishment. Bulgaria introduced them all, and Viktor swept his arm towards the school to lead them forward.

Romano felt like an idiot, because he had no idea who this bastard was, or why the albino potato had been so excited about meeting him. But there were too many people around for him to discreetly ask England. He hoped he could bluff his way through the day.

"Who else is here?" Prussia asked loudly.

"We're having a nice meal first," Viktor told them in his deep voice, ignoring the question. "Please come into the great hall."

That room had the feel of an outdoor dining hall, because of its enchanted ceiling. A group of people swarmed up to them, laughing, and the bastard that was obviously Harry shook England's hand with excitement. The island nation then introduced everyone, and Harry gestured to the table for the meal.

Voices began babbling, and Romano sat calmly waiting for the food and trying to pin everyone's name in his mind. Harry, no problem; nobody looked like him. The only girls here were Hermione, Ginny and Luna; each of them had a very distinctive appearance, so he knew he wouldn't get them mixed up. Everyone ate, animated, discussing the plans for the afternoon. He was content to eat and listen, instead of trying to sound knowledgeable about something he didn't understand.

But there were two redhead young men here. He knew one was Ron and one was his brother, but he couldn't really tell them apart. Bulgaria was busy speaking to one of them. "If I'd known you would be here, I would have asked if Romania could join us!"

"Ah, no problem; I just talked to him last week!"

The other redhead noticed Romano's little frown of concentration, and passed him a pitcher of juice. "My brother Charlie works in Romania," he offered.

Romano automatically took the pitcher and poured himself a drink. "So, that's Charlie, and you're Ron; okay. Thanks." Ron had the red shirt, Charlie the blue one.

Ron laughed. "Yeah, it's tough to meet a bunch of people all at once."

"I do my best." He sipped the juice. "Wow! What is this stuff? It's delicious!"

England and Harry both beamed at him. "Arthur told us you like tomatoes. This is a special juice blend with some magically-grown Hogwarts tomatoes and other vegetables from the area."

"Kesesese!"

But Romano had to fight a sappy smile. Dammit, that bastard really did love him, didn't he? Instead of the smile, he drank more juice and banged England's knee with his own, under the table.

"Git. Drink your juice."

"Why didn't you bring any girls with you?" Hermione asked, in what Romano considered a somewhat belligerent tone. Was she a feminist?

"None of them wanted to come," England replied.

"Oh, hurry up with all this chit-chat!" The albino potato had already finished eating and tried to push the bench back. "I want to go play Quidditch!"

Everyone hurriedly finished their food and jumped up to run to the Quidditch field.

…

Ron immediately led everyone to the pitch, where a bunch of brooms lay neatly arranged on the ground. But Harry drew England to the side, and England grabbed Romano's sleeve to bring him along.

When they'd gotten a little way away, Harry picked up a lone broom from the ground. "Right," he said. "This broom is suitable for two. Are you sure you'll be all right?" he asked Romano kindly.

"Yeah, yeah. This bastard won't let anything happen to me." He punched England's arm fondly, not knowing how else to show affection in front of all these strangers.

"Just remember to hold on tight!" Harry backed away while England held the broom at the right height.

"Have fun, Romano!" Prussia yelled out from the other end of the stadium.

"I – I think we will!" Yes, he was terrifically frightened, but he got on as England directed, holding him around the waist from behind.

"You're certain? All you really need to do is hold on to me, and we'll be fine. Even if you think we're falling, don't worry; just keep holding me. Understood?"

"Understood, moron." He slipped his arms around the island nation's waist and held him tightly. "And – and thanks for the magic tomato juice." He laughed a little. "Will it help me fly better?"

"No idea," England muttered, and launched the broomstick.

Wah! Romano's stomach plummeted. "Dammit, this…"

"Just shut it and hold on!"

They gained altitude in a straight line; Romano couldn't see well, because England was in the way, so he tried to look off to the side. "This is making my eyes water."

"Oh, bugger. I should have thought of that. _Accio goggles!_" England yelled, and a pair of goggles eventually flew into his outstretched hand…his outstretched hand, which was not holding onto the broom!

"Dammit, bastard! Get a grip on the stupid broom!"

"Put these on," England retorted, tucking them into Romano's hands. When the brunet had a grip on the goggles, the island nation put both hands on the broom and circled a little, leisurely.

"How the fuck am I supposed to put them on? I need to hold you!"

He could _feel_ the bastard's stupid romantic smirk, but England slowed the broom down a little more, until they were basically flying along at a walking pace. "There. Okay?" He also lowered the broom so they were closer to the ground. "There. Now if you fall off, you'll hit your head on the grass and be done. Right?"

"Bastard." Romano struggled into the goggles. "How do I look?"

"Adorable as always, you bloody chicken. Now hold onto me again. I'm going to take us out over the lake."

"Whaaaaaa –" Romano's scream of panic dwindled as they got airborne again. "Over the l-l-lake? What if we fall off the fucking broom? We'll drown!"

"Don't be an idiot! Just remember to hold on!"

So Romano squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, and held onto England as tightly as he could, and in a few more seconds it felt like they'd stopped. He opened his eyes very gingerly –

And shut them again as soon as he saw they were over the water. "Dammit, dammit," he muttered, unable to think of anything better to say.

"You all right? You can relax now. We can maintain this flying speed and altitude with no problem, unless you go leaping off the blasted broom."

"R-really?" He opened his eyes once more, and focused on the beautiful surrounding landscape rather than the no-doubt-ice-cold water waiting to receive them, and began to relax. The broom was indeed flying rather peacefully along, with a gentle breeze ruffling their hair.

But he didn't want to get too nonchalant about this, too soon! So he leaned forward and asked, "Who the hell is Viktor Krum, anyway?"

England laughed and explained. "Don't worry. Nobody really expects this to be some long-term group thing, and there's no bloody quiz at the end of the day, either."

So Romano gave him a little squeeze, and kissed him on the back of his neck. "Thanks, bastard. For all this. For the tomato juice, and the trips, and – well, just being good to me."

He felt England take his hands and hold them for a few seconds. "You know there's nothing else I'd rather do," the island nation confessed, as sweetly as he could with the air rushing past them.

Romano's heart rate spiked again. _"Hey!_ Get your hands back on the fucking broom! Dammit, are you trying to kill me?"

"Wanker. Trying to be nice. I keep telling you, you do _not_ need to worry! I can control the broom with my knees."

"Don't. Just – just don't. Just fly us around for a little, _with_ your hands on the stupid thing!"

He felt England sigh, but relaxed as he saw the pale hands grasp the broomstick again. "Satisfied?"

"Mostly."

"You're supposed to be paying attention to see if you want to fly solo for the Quidditch game."

"Oh! Shit, yes, I forgot all about it."

"Well? Shut it and pay attention!"

So for a few minutes, Romano tried to place himself mentally on a solo broom flight, soaring around. He had to admit it was nice. It was unusual, and dramatic, and he could really get into this!

If he wasn't afraid of falling off. He mentioned this to England.

"There's probably some spell they could do, to make sure you don't fall off."

"Okay. Let's fly for another minute or two and I'll think about it. What kind of position do you think I would end up playing? I don't want those damn great balls whacking into me."

"Well. It's possible we won't use those. It might not be fair to four newb players like you gits."

"What do you mean? You've played it before?"

"Of course I have."

Then the mathematics sorted themselves out in the Italian's brain. "What four gits? Me, Den, the albino potato, Estonia and Bulgaria, that's five, you dumbass."

"Bulgaria isn't a newb. Viktor Krum is the most famous Quidditch player there ever was!"

"Oh."

"Anyway, Gilbert was right; you can sit in the stands with Hermione and cheer us on. Luna too, I'm guessing. But if you do want to play, I bet Gilbert will suggest you play Seeker. That's actually a pretty easy job, but you have to be fast."

Romano had been wondering about broom control for a few minutes now. "Will you let me try to fly the broom myself? Out here somewhere, so neither of those dumb bastards will see me if I fall off the stupid thing?"

"Sure." England angled the broom down towards an empty field. "I won't let you take it up alone, but you can sit in front and fly it, and I'll ride behind you."

"No funny stuff," Romano cautioned, as they gently landed.

"No funny stuff." England scooted back and let Romano mount in front of him for his first-ever test flight.

…

On the pitch – or rather, above the pitch – Prussia flew loop-de-loops around everyone, screaming like a banshee and laughing so loudly it drowned the others out. Den shrugged and did a few laps around the field. This was fun! He wondered whether he could start getting his citizens interested in magic, so they could do some of these things when he was at home. He tried a Prussia-style loop-de-loop and almost fell off the broom, though, so he settled down to practice more effectively.

"You're not bad," Charlie Weasley told him, flying alongside him.

"It's easy when I'm just coasting along. I'm not sure how well I'll do when there are balls and other players and shit like that flying around."

Charlie laughed. "Don't worry about it, mate. This is just a friendly game, so unless you fall off your broom, you'll have fun."

"I'll try not to." Damn right! If Prussia or Romano saw him fall off a broom, they would never shut up about it.

…

"Right," England told Harry, handing the broom back. "We'll both play."

Harry turned to the flying players and amplified his voice by magic. "Oi! Come down and choose teams!"

Romano panicked a little, hissing to England, "What? Can't I be on your team?"

"Yes, panicky thing, Harry and I are captains, so I'll choose you, even though Gilbert is probably a more sensible choice."

"I hate you."

England smirked. "Fine. Play on Harry's team."

"Bastard…"

"All right, all right. Shut it and stand with everyone else."

Prussia landed and threw his arms around Romano. "Did you love it? Isn't it awesome? Kesesese!"

"Yes, idiot, it's awesome. Now – now calm down while they choose teams."

Teams were sorted. Harry had chosen Ron, Prussia, Denmark (to his amazement), and Charlie; England had therefore ended up with Romano, Viktor, Ginny and Bulgaria. Romano was still worried, but he hoped that having four other real players (as opposed to those bastard 'newbs' Prussia and Den) would offset any problems he might cause. Estonia allowed Hermione and Luna to lead him to the stands to watch and possibly cheer.

"Since we're playing short-handed," Harry suggested, "let's leave out the Snitch. We'll just score goals by shooting the Quaffle through the hoops. That way we don't need a Seeker, and we can use two Chasers instead of three. First team to score five goals wins. All right? For a warm-up, at least. If it's over too quickly we can have another go."

Everyone admitted that this sounded good. "Five minutes to assign roles?" England asked Harry, who agreed.

The blond drew his team into a huddle. "Let's plan our positions based on the other team. Den will be a Beater, no question," he laughed. "Will Ron play Keeper?" he asked Ginny.

"Probably. I heard him worrying, because we have Viktor and me on the team. Sorry," she apologized to the others, "but he knows my style."

"It's all right," Bulgaria told her, and Viktor agreed. Romano was a bit too nervous to speak at all.

"Who wants to be our Keeper? You'll have to watch out for Gilbert. I'm positive he'll play Chaser."

"I'll play Keeper, then," Bulgaria grinned. "I can take care of him."

"Good. I think Viktor and I should play Beater, and Romano and Ginny Chasers, since they're lighter and possibly faster."

"Chaser, Chaser," Romano muttered, trying to remember what they had to do.

"Just like football," Bulgaria said, patting him on the shoulder. "Get the ball, score a goal."

"That's _it?_"

"Pfft. As long as Viktor and Arthur keep the Bludgers away from you, yeah!"

"We can do it." Those two nodded grimly. "Don't want anyone getting hurt," England added, carefully not looking at Romano.

"We're all okay with this?" the Italian asked, appealing to Ginny. He didn't want her to feel put upon, or anything.

She slapped him on the back. "Let's kick their butts!"

…

In Harry's team huddle, Prussia tried not to bounce up and down with exuberance. _Harry Potter_ had chosen him, Prussia, to be on his Quidditch team! "Kesesese!" he yelled out, before Den grabbed his arm and yanked on it.

"Shut up. Let Harry figure out who's playing what."

"Yeah, I got it," Harry told them. "Ron, I'm relying on you to play Keeper. One thing we know is that none of them are playing positions they're comfortable with. We don't need Seekers, so both Viktor and Ginny are going to have to do something unfamiliar."

"But Arthur's good at all the positions," Ron pointed out. "Gotta watch out for him."

"I remember." Harry shared a smile with his best friend. "Okay. So if you'll take Keeper, that'll give me some reassurance. Remember Charlie and I have to play unfamiliar positions too!" He turned to the two nations. "What do you think you'd be best at? Attacking or defending?"

"Attack, attack, attack!" Prussia yelled, jumping up and down.

Everyone laughed at him, except Den, who rolled his eyes. "Yeah. I'll take defense. Put a bat in my hand, it's as good as an axe, right?"

"Okay. I'll Chase, if Charlie will Beat."

"Deal," Charlie told him, shaking his hand.

"You all know the rules?"

"Memorized 'em last week," Den grinned, stretching.

"Cool. The bats are over here. Are you both happy with your brooms?"

"This broom is _awesome._ Wonder if I could buy it and take it home?"

"Wouldn't work," Ron pointed out. "Hogwarts brooms only work at Hogwarts."

_"Scheisse._ Well, come on! Let's play!"

…

_Apparently Rowling once said that Viktor found love after returning to Bulgaria, so I had to put a little romantic EstiBul in there. I'm going to hope Viktor falls in love with an Estonian tourist._

_I hadn't realized that almost all the characters I chose for this chapter had been Seekers! So this put them all at a little disadvantage._

_Also, the 2015 Hetalia Awards are open for nominations. If you think any of my stories are good enough to deserve a nomination, please look for these awards in the account of Christoph Andretti (it is presented as a story) and say so in a PM or review. ("Skirmish Brothers" won last year for Best Anthology, though, so I do not think it could win again.) Thank you._


	88. Hogwarts II

**Hogwarts II.**

"Harry, have you any kind of spell that might help Romano stay on his broom? Or do you think that would be cheating?" England asked this in a low tone so his friend wouldn't be embarrassed in front of everyone else.

"I don't think it's a problem. We know you're not used to it. What about your other friends?" They all glanced back to where Prussia sat on a broom zooming around at waist-height, while Den swished a bat around to get a feel for it, narrowly missing Ron, who yelped.

"Eh. They'll probably be all right."

"Okay. Hermione probably knows something. Come on." Harry gestured to the brunet and they walked into the stands with the broom; England busied himself choosing a broom from the few that remained.

Once they'd explained the problem, she nodded. "Give me a minute…yes, all right, I know what I can do." She chanted a spell under her breath, touching Romano's broom with one hand and his arm with the other. He felt a slight tingle up his spine, but that could have been purely psychosomatic. After all, England had worked magic on him before, and he'd never felt that.

When she let go he asked, "Is that it?"

Hermione beamed. "That's it! Have fun playing!" She turned back to Luna and Estonia, who gave Romano a thumbs-up, and then Harry led him back to the pitch.

"What was that all about?" Prussia asked him, zipping past at eye level, and, of course, grinning like a fool.

"Nothing. Shut up." Romano straddled the broomstick and tentatively rose into the air a few feet. Yes! He could do it. He wondered whether Hermione might have given him extra flying powers. Would that be cheating?

Fuck it. Even if it was, he wasn't going to ask her to take them away! He snorted. Fair play, hah. He wanted to thrash the albino potato's team, even if they did have to cheat.

Soon everyone was ready and the game began.

…

At first, Denmark felt a little worried. He had to fly around, stop balls from hitting Harry and Prussia, and not get hit himself. And not run into anyone! He was so concerned about this that he simply flew around panicking for a while, randomly lunging towards Bludgers here and there just to bat them out of the way, until he heard a yell from Prussia. "Den! Stop fucking around!"

How the hell did anyone ever concentrate on this damn game? He turned to see the albino trying to outfly one of the big brutal balls, ignoring the gameplay going on around them. Den dove for it and batted it away. "Got it," he yelled, but it circled around and headed towards Harry, so he aimed for that area. Who would have thought flying around on a broom required all this energy? He was exhausted already.

Harry tried to score, but Bulgaria made a save. "Bloody hell," he heard Ron mutter, behind him at the goal.

England swooped by and hit a Bludger right at him. "Damn!" Den hit it back at him as if they were in a tennis match, but the island nation was long gone.

Prussia yelled for his help again. Shit. Denmark was playing like a total ass. Even Romano was doing better than he was. In fact, while Den was flying after the Bludger to save Prussia again, Romano actually scored!

A cheer went up from England's team and from the three in the stands. Well, of course Estonia was going to cheer Bulgaria's team. But Ron became indignant, yelling to Hermione, "Whose side are you on, anyway?" He put the Quaffle back into play.

"It's not a matter of sides, Ron," Harry laughed, flying past. "It was a good goal!"

Romano preened a bit, though Den noticed he was careful not to let go of the broomstick. Everyone else was so distracted by this that Prussia managed to sneak up and score against the shouting, isolated Bulgaria. "Awesome! I scored! Hey, _Romano!_ I scored too!"

Bulgaria snorted and put the Quaffle back in play. Now Den felt really stupid – although he knew his position was not a scoring one, both his friends had made goals very quickly. "We forgot to make a bet!" he yelled, swinging his bat at a Bludger.

"No bloody bets!" England flew past again, laughing almost as maniacally as Prussia, and hit the ball away.

Shit. Romano was about to score another goal! Denmark was determined to stop him. Ignoring all the balls and other players, he flew downward and then popped right up in front of the Italian, intending to shock him into missing.

And…boy, did it work. Romano screamed "Chigi!" and recoiled, right into the path of a Bludger that Viktor had been unable to stop. The ball hit Romano in the shoulder and he lost control of the broom, tumbling down towards the grass, still screaming incoherently in Italian.

"Shit!" Den yelled, going into a nosedive to try to catch him before he hit the ground.

Suddenly Romano stopped both screaming and falling, but Denmark couldn't stop, and his powerful dive drove him face-first into the dirt, where he landed on his broom and smashed it. "Ow. Ow!" Ouch. He rolled over heavily in the grass and lay still. What the hell? Did he have splinters up his fucking _nose? _

He'd thought Romano had recovered and gotten control of his broom again, but no. The brunet swung gently in the breeze, apparently unconscious, about ten feet in the air, upside-down and clinging to the broom. What had happened? Hit by another ball?

Gameplay had stopped for all this. Den narrowed his eyes against the sun, sort of dazed. At least he hadn't broken anything. Had he? He raised a hand and wiped his nose, which was bleeding a little. Whatever. He blotted it with his shirt, blinking a few times, then kept his eyes open and listened to the talk flow around him, vaguely hoping Romano wouldn't fall and land on top of him.

Hermione ran anxiously out onto the field, trailed by Luna and Estonia. "Are you all right?" she asked Den. Then, pointing to Romano, "Is _he_ all right?"

"I'll take care of Mathias." Luna bent down and smoothed the hair off Den's face, taking a handkerchief from her handbag and wiping up the blood. He smiled at her, and she smiled back. England touched down nearby, followed by most of the other players.

"He-e-e-lp!" they heard, and the whole group looked up. Prussia had fallen off his broom and hung onto it with both hands, dangling beneath it, his legs kicking wildly as the broom shot randomly around the arena. Both Bludgers chased him. "Stop this crazy thing! _Iggy!"_

Bulgaria laughed and waved cheekily at him. "Well?" he demanded of England. "Going to save him?"

"Pfft. Not if he keeps calling me Iggy. Let him fly around for a while, keep him out of my hair, unless one of you gits wants to save him. I need to check on Romano."

"I'll go get him," Bulgaria sighed. "Come on, Viktor, give me a hand." The two of them launched themselves at the albino.

"Are you all right, Den?" Denmark nodded without saying anything, so England got airborne near the unconscious Romano, about eight feet above everyone else. He lifted his friend's eyelid with his thumb. "Seems like he's knocked out. Did the ball hit him in the head?"

"No," Charlie told him. "In the shoulder. Viktor tried to stop it but wasn't fast enough."

"Why is he floating up there?" Ron wondered. "I thought he was going to crash." He dusted his hands together.

Hermione stood wringing her hands. "This is something to do with the spell, isn't it?" Harry asked her.

She nodded. Before she could explain, Charlie asked, "What spell?"

Harry explained about Romano's fear of falling off the broom. "Hermione said she put a spell on him to keep him on the broom."

"It worked, didn't it?" Luna looked dreamily up at Romano, who was still mounted on the broom as if flying, except that he was hanging upside down. "He didn't fall off."

Prussia's voice floated back to them across the width of the pitch. _"Help me!"_ Den shifted his eyes to look; the albino still hung on, legs now flopping limply as he zoomed around; Viktor and Bulgaria flew frantically after him, but didn't seem to be catching up. Eh, he'd be all right, as long as his arms didn't give out. Maybe there was something wrong with that broom. Could it be cursed?

But Estonia spoke, drawing his attention back to the matter at hand. "So, there was some kind of cushioning spell? That's pretty smart." He seemed impressed.

"W-well," Hermione began, nervously, "that – that was later. When I saw him falling, I used an extra-strength cushioning spell on him. It was just supposed to slow his descent so he landed on the grass, not keep him in the air!"

England shrugged and pushed Romano downward; Harry reached up to grab the broomstick, but he couldn't quite make it. The blond pushed harder; when he let go, Romano popped up like a cork to float where he'd been. "Why is this so strong? Why did you use extra-strength spells on him?" England wondered.

"You said he was resistant to magic!" Hermione wailed.

"You mean like Hagrid?" Ron laughed a little, possibly comparing the slight Romano to the gigantic Hagrid.

"Yes! I had to use all the strongest spells I could think of!"

But England frowned. "I never said that. He's never been resistant to it before. What makes you think I said that?"

Harry cleared his throat. "That's what you said in your letter. You wanted to take him on the broomstick ride because he was resistant to magic."

"Oh, bloody hell! I meant he didn't like the idea of magic. He was resisting us, when we wanted to do things, and arguing with us about it all the time. Bugger." He pushed down on Romano again, who popped back up.

"Doesn't really matter why. What matters is how long he'll stay like this." Ron jumped up and grabbed the broom, but it slipped; once again the Italian rose back to his stasis point. "Haha! This is fun." He jumped and bounced Romano up and down a few times.

England glared at him. "Knock it off. If he finds out –"

"Haha," Den managed to laugh weakly. "Explosion!" Luna stopped blotting his face and rocked back on her heels, smiling up at the floating half-nation.

"Uh. Yeah." Ron stopped. "Well? When will he come down?"

Everyone turned to Hermione, who shrugged. "I don't know! If he had been truly resistant to magical effects it might have worn off in five minutes. But since he's not –"

"Can we at least wake him up?" Harry wondered. "I hope he's not concussed."

England lifted his eyelid again. "Pupils are fine. Hey, Romano," he said, slapping his friend's cheek gently.

"Mm, tomatoes," the brunet moaned, hugging his broom and rolling over as if in a bed. This made everyone burst out laughing and dispelled the tension.

"I guess we ought to stop playing," Harry decided.

"Yes. I – I don't think I could focus, knowing he was like this," England said, with a frown.

"And we still need to save Prussia!" When Estonia said that, Den looked up and saw him desperately clinging to a goalpost with his legs while gripping the raging broom with his hands. Bulgaria and Viktor warily approached him, one from each side, each with an outstretched arm ready to grab him. The Bludger had dropped to the grass and lay inert, perhaps sensing that the game was over.

Den laughed a little. "Look at that idiot."

"What are we going to do, if you don't play?" Hermione looked around. "Would you like to tour the school or something?"

"Hah, if we could find the Room of Requirement, maybe there would be a book of spells for how to fix this!" Ron leaped up and tried to grab the end of Romano's broomstick, but it slipped out of his grasp once more.

"Tie a rope to him," Luna suggested. "Then we can tour the school and tug him along with us like a balloon."

The nations all burst out laughing at the idea of a Romano balloon, except for England, who was still quite concerned and trying to wake his friend up. "Hey, you might not want to wake him up," Den pointed out. "If he wakes up and finds himself being treated like a balloon –"

"Bugger. Well, that is a good point." The blond looked down at them all. "I don't mind touring the school. You wankers all right with that?"

"Fine with me," Denmark answered. He didn't really care what they did at this point. He was worried about Romano, and Prussia too, and wanted to keep an eye on his friends. He finally struggled into a sitting position and looked around sadly at the bits of broken broom and the bat.

"Suits me," Harry added. "It'd give us all a chance to calm down a little."

"That's certainly fine with me. I had hoped we'd get a little tour," Estonia smiled, removing his glasses to polish them.

"All right. Let's get all the gear packed up." Harry turned to find that Ginny had been taking care of this all along. "You what?"

"Well, it wasn't going to do any good if I just stood around, was it? At least this is done." She shut and locked the trunk containing the Quidditch balls. "Bring your brooms, everyone. Don't worry about the broken one," she told Denmark. "I'll come back and take care of it later."

"Thanks."

Viktor and Bulgaria finally managed to get the shaking Prussia and his rogue broom back down to earth safely. He immediately collapsed in the grass. "Forget that! Wow, it was exciting at first, but – no way, Arthur. Never again. That damn broom –"

"You said it was awesome," Harry pointed out with a grin.

"That broom is a – a _traitor!"_

No one seemed to sympathize with him; in fact, there was scattered laughter at this comment. "It was your idea to come here, you know," England reminded him. Prussia didn't answer, but turned his back on the broom and rubbed his biceps showily.

Denmark stood up and reached a hand to help him up, and they leaned unsteadily together as they walked. "What happened to you? And Romano?"

Den let them drift to the rear of the group while he explained about it. England stayed airborne, one hand on Romano's broom to pull him along, and they all headed back into the school. Ginny and Charlie took the gear to put away, while the rest congregated in the great hall again.

…

Prussia felt at a disadvantage now that they were all walking (except the floating Romano, who seemed by all reports to be merely sleeping, and Arthur, who flew along next to him to keep an eye on him). He could see that Arthur was seriously distressed by all this. "Hey," he wondered aloud, "what happens when the spells wear off? Will he just fall on the floor?"

"Shit," Den laughed, "that's going to lead to trouble."

"I can probably grab him." England bit his lip. "Go on, Luna or someone, give us a tour. I'll keep flying, just so I can monitor this."

So Luna led them all on a very quirky yet informative tour of the Hogwarts school and grounds. Prussia was thrilled when Nearly Headless Nick came out to see them, and tried to shake his hand. "At least you can't rip _Nick's_ hand off," Den muttered with a grin.

But Prussia ignored this. "Awesome! Wait until I tell America I met a real ghost! Kesesese!"

"Americans are scared of ghosts," Nick sniffed disdainfully, making all the nations laugh. He drifted along with them for a while, showing great interest in trying to poke the sleeping Romano, but then got distracted by something else. Charlie and Ginny hurried up to join the group again, and they moved off in a body.

"Why is the school so empty?" Denmark then wondered. "Is it vacation time or something?"

"Yes. Teachers are around somewhere, but they're probably keeping out of our way." Ron poked his head around the corner. "There are some kids here, too, but they all act intimidated around us. We rarely get to talk to them."

Luna smiled sweetly. "Because you're heroes."

All of the Hogwarts people blushed, and Viktor too. "Luna, please…" Harry began.

Prussia grinned and would have pinched his cheek if they'd been better friends. "You know what always struck me as stupid?" he told them, just to get the embarrassing moment over with. "Voldemort probably could have gotten a shit-ton more adherents if he'd gone to America. There are so many people there, and they love jumping on bandwagons like that. All those religious cults and things? He shouldn't have tried to confine himself to Europe."

"Wouldn't have worked." Den poked him. "Doesn't go with the heroic image."

All the nations paused for a moment to imagine America as a follower of Voldemort; they heard a snort from the airborne island nation. Prussia shrugged. "Hah. Yeah, you're right. Stupid idea. Forget I said anything."

"I'm glad that business is all over." Ginny took Harry's hand and they kept walking.

"We all are." Harry seemed as if he wanted to say more, but the spell broke and Romano fell on top of him. "Ow!"

"Dammit! What the fuck's going on? You – huh? Why are we inside?" His voice changed to accusatory anger as he stared up at England, still on the broom, ignoring Harry who crawled out from under him, rubbing his hip. "Bastard, if you've been doing magic on me again –"

"It's my fault!" Hermione wailed, wringing her hands together theatrically. "Please don't yell at Arthur! He's been so concerned about you!"

Romano's blush started deep and slow, and soon his whole face was red. Ron helped him off the floor and handed the broomstick to Ginny. The brunet cleared his throat. "Wh-what the f-what happened?" He avoided looking at Arthur, now, Prussia noticed. Heh.

The island nation floated down to the floor while Hermione explained. "I'm so, so sorry!"

She had tears in her eyes, she was so distressed. Romano took her hands and smiled at her. "Please don't worry," he told her. "Accidents do happen, and this was a misunderstanding. No real harm has been done."

"Except I'm all bruised, from where you fell on me," Harry joked, and everyone smiled.

"Please don't worry?" Romano squeezed Hermione's hands one more time and let go.

"Okay." She wiped her eyes with the back of a hand.

"So what the h—what are we doing inside?" He stared around the place as England rested his broom and Romano's against the wall.

"Kesesese! Luna's giving us an awesome tour while we waited for you to wake up and get off the broom."

Romano rubbed his head. "Yeah, okay, fine. Please continue the tour. Sorry I fell on you, ba-Harry."

"No problem. Come on, Luna, let's show them something else. Moaning Myrtle's bathroom?"

"Urgh, no," Ron grunted. "I can't deal with her today. Want to take the hidden passage to Hogsmeade? We could get a snack without disturbing the house-elves."

"Why are you always thinking of food?" Hermione whacked him on the side of the head.

He grinned at her. "Hey, at least I was being nice about the house-elves!"

"Idiot," she muttered affectionately, taking his hand.

"Could you deal with a trip through an underground passage?" England asked Romano, still seeming worried.

"Pfft. Catacombs, remember? Yes. Just – uh, just walk with me?" He blushed, and then Prussia _did _pinch his cheek. "Stop that, you idiot."

"Then let's go to Hogsmeade!" Prussia hugged him excitedly. "Where do we go?"

"Follow me, please." Luna took his hand and led them to the passage's entrance.

…

At the end of the day everyone was in much better spirits. Neither Harry nor Den felt any more pain, and both Romano and Prussia had recovered from their earlier frights. The entire group headed back to the train station to see the travelers safely on their way. "Thank you all," Den said, shaking everyone's hand in turn. "We had a great day, didn't we?"

"_You_ did!" Romano punched him on the arm; everyone laughed.

"We were happy to meet you all." Viktor spoke for the group. "And of course I'm always happy to see you." He shook Bulgaria's hand and then Estonia's with a little smile.

The nations boarded the train with waves and laughter. "Take care of yourselves!" Romano yelled back.

"We will," Luna called to him. "We all will!"

Waving goodbye out the window, they parted from their new Hogwarts friends, exhausted but happy.

"Whew," Prussia groaned, flopping into a seat. "What a day! Seriously, that Quidditch is a bitch. Don't know how they do it." He rubbed his biceps again.

"You're not kidding." Den complained about muscle groups he hadn't even known he owned!

"Don't worry. I'll give you a good massage when we get home." Prussia waggled the white eyebrows.

"Shut up, stupid." Romano kicked him.

"Ow. There's something I forgot to ask about, though, Arthur. Remember when we went to the Shire? We saw the personification of the Shire."

Estonia interrupted to ask about the Shire; this discussion took quite a while.

"Anyway," Prussia continued, "we didn't get to meet the awesome personification of Oz, did we? Or was he or she one of the people we saw but didn't meet?"

England thought. "I think we must have missed him, or her. I've never met that one."

"Well, my real question is why we didn't meet the personification of Hogwarts today. Or maybe not Hogwarts, but of the magical world." Prussia, shaking his head, frowned a little. "I thought for sure we would, since it was a calm day and we weren't in any trouble."

Everyone stared at him; Romano started laughing and hugged England. "Thanks for a pretty good day, bastard."

Den leaned across the gap between the seats and shook England's hand. "Yes. It was an awesome day, even if I will be suffering for a day or two."

Bulgaria and Estonia both laughed and each took the island nation's hands for a few seconds, adding their thanks.

The affronted albino sat shifting his glance from one to the next. "What are you all talking about? Why are you ignoring my question?"

England gestured to Romano to explain. "Teutonic bastard, you're an idiot."

"What? Why?"

"Hogwarts is in the UK." Den poked him in the ribs.

"Yeah? So?"

"England is the personification of this magical world! Aren't you?" Estonia asked earnestly.

England grinned at the amazement dawning on Prussia's face. "Yes, I am. It coexists with our world, you see, so it doesn't really have its own separate place."

Prussia leaped up and hugged him, falling onto his lap as the train lurched onwards. "That's so awesome! Arthur, Arthur, I love you!"

"Yes, git, I love you too. Now get off me; go sit on Denmark's lap or something."

He did so, laughing and hugging the Viking. "Wow. That's the coolest thing ever."

"I _know_." Romano kicked him once more, and the train sped on, taking them home.

…


	89. Ankh-Morpork I

_I am a Total Discworld Geek. If I could live in any fictional place, it would be Ankh-Morpork. Discworld is not as well-known as the preceding worlds, mostly because it's been made into British TV movies and not worldwide Hollywood blockbusters. If you'd like to learn more, start by reading (or watching) "Going Postal." The book was published in 2004 (it's book 33 out of 40 published to date); the movie stars Richard Coyle and was made in 2010. It is a good standalone and will give you a feel for the city of A-M and its pre-Steam Age development levels, as well as introducing you to some of the characters in these two chapters. _

…

**Ankh-Morpork I.** (The Discworld novels, Sir Terry Pratchett)

"Looking good, Gilbert." England gestured to his friend's very old-fashioned and dirty outfit. "Not a speck of neon visible."

"Kesesese! My underwear's neon pink but I don't think anybody will see it."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, you girly albino bastard…"

"Why? What kind of underwear do _you_ have on?" Denmark grabbed Romano and tried to pull his pants down.

"Chigi! Will you lunatics drop this? I thought you were happy because you saw it at the water park!" He struggled until England yanked him out of Den's grasp. "Ow."

"Hah, you wear the same underwear all the time?" Prussia grinned at him. "Come on, forget all this, and let's get going. I want to see a golem."

"Well, all right." They trooped down the stairs to the Sanctum. "What the fuck's a golem, anyway? I read some of these books but I don't remember that being in any of them."

Denmark had been doing his homework, so he explained that they were clay statues brought to life by holy words written down and placed into their hollow heads.

"That doesn't make any sense! How the hell do their joints bend?"

"_That's_ what doesn't make sense?" England laughed, lighting the candle. "I thought you'd scoff about the 'holy words in the head' part."

"Whatever, bastard. I know holy words can do a lot. But I want to see a golem too, now."

"Right. Shut it and stand in the circle." The friends took up their positions and transitioned to Sator Square.

…

Although the place was thronged with people, no one paid any attention to their arrival at all. "Are we invisible again?" Prussia hissed to England, as they were jostled this way and that by passersby.

They stood and stared at the milling crowd, dressed in a variety of styles. No golems were visible at the moment. "No. It's just that nobody gives a damn, around here. It's a commonplace occurrence."

"You're joking! Well, let's go see someone."

"Whom should we visit? You choose." England gestured around with an expansive wave of his arm.

But someone had already scurried to the group, quicker than lightning. "Excuse me, sirs! Excuse me! New to the city? Hungry? Try a pie! Genuine finest pork product!"

England laughed at Dibbler's expression; he hadn't been here for a while, but old Dibbler was still the same, just a little more grey in his hair. "No thanks," he said, even though Prussia was eying the pies. (Den and Romano sensibly stood well back from the tray.) "Maybe later."

"You're certain? Look how good they are!" Dibbler nodded enthusiastically.

"We're certain."

"Are we?" Prussia hissed. Romano poked him.

"Come on, gits, let's move," England told his friends quietly. Then: "Thanks, Mr. Dibbler." He pulled his friends to stand near a building, out of the traffic flow. Still no one else looked at them much, while they gawked.

"Why can't we get a pie, Arthur? They smell really good!"

"Cheh. Did you do any homework, bastard? Even _I_ know that if you eat one of Dibbler's pies, you'll regret it."

"If you live long enough," Den added with a laugh.

Prussia stroked his chin, thinking. "Nope. Don't remember anything about that."

"Well, it doesn't matter, git. Just take your cues from me, all right? And no mucking about with things you don't recognize! The Disc, and Ankh-Morpork, are naturally magic. If you touch something you could cause a strange reaction."

"Turning your underwear blue," Romano muttered with a smirk.

"Ah. Well." Den ignored that. "I think we should meet the personification right away, so we don't forget."

"Ooh! Great idea, great idea. Can we do that, Arthur?"

"You want to meet the personification of Ankh-Morpork? Or of the whole Disc?"

"Could we do both?" Prussia nodded eagerly. "It would make up for all the other ones we missed."

"We could try. Come on. We need to get to the Brass Bridge." England led the others away, through the crowds and dirt, the noise and smells.

"How do people stand this?" Romano wondered. "It's like a circus!" He grabbed the island nation's arm so he wouldn't get lost in the crowd, his head whipping from side to side as he stared at dwarves, pigeons, humans, and even – "A _zombie?_" he whispered, pulling himself closer to his friend.

Prussia grinned at the passing grey-skinned zombie, who raised his hat and smiled at the travelers, but the albino didn't comment on that. "It can't be any worse than things were in our past. Can it? Hell, Berlin's worse than this now, just in a different way. More tech and stuff, more pollution and noise. And a lot more people." He looked around the area again.

Romano took a moment to think about this, instead of just disagreeing on principle. "You're right. I hadn't considered it that way."

"Must just be because it's unfamiliar to us." Denmark towered over most of the residents, until they rounded a corner and almost bumped into a troll in a clockwork helmet. "Oops," the Viking said quietly, looking up – and up – "Sorry."

"Dat's all right," the troll said with a diamond grin. "People always bumpin' into me."

"Are you _Detritus?_" Prussia asked in awe.

"Dat's Sergeant Detritus, to you," the troll nodded. "But yeah, dat is who I am."

"Sergeant Detritus," the albino hurriedly corrected himself, extending a hand to shake. "Wow."

Very delicately, the troll took the white hand between thumb and forefinger and shook it gently. "'M on my way to a crime scene so I gotta go." He lumbered off.

"Thanks! Bye!" Prussia danced in place. "Can we follow him? I wanna see the rest of the Watchmen."

England laughed and poked him in the belly. "Don't worry. You will."

Denmark laughed too, but then took a moment to think. "Wonder what crime it was? I hope it's nothing too bad."

"Argh, bastards, I hope they don't try to pin it on us! Let's go to the Brass Bridge like we were going to do. I don't want to get in trouble for meddling."

"Good point." England took Romano's arm again and led them off, dodging pedestrians, horses, and carts along the way.

They reached the bridge without incident and stood staring at the famous hippos and the cart and foot traffic for a moment. "Well?" Den asked. "Where's the personification?"

England grinned and led them to a short, grubby Watchman leaning against the railing, smoking. "Mornin', gents," Nobby greeted them with a sloppy salute.

"How have you been, Corporal Nobbs?"

"Eh, you know how it is. Ups and downs, just like everybody else."

The blond introduced his friends. Only Prussia was brave enough to shake Nobby's hand; England figured he was probably safe, since he was an ex-nation anyway. Still. He had hand sanitizer in the rucksack, having assumed someone, somewhere, would get dirty. He'd make Gilbert use it when they moved on.

"And this is the Ankh!" Den leaned over the railing, watching the sluggish river, an almost solid mud color. "Wow." He scooped up a loose piece of gravel and threw it into the river; all four of the nations watched it dimple the surface and rest there before beginning to sink slowly after a few minutes.

"Easy to tell you blokes are tourists, even if I didn't recognize Arthur. Here for a long time?"

"Just today," England told him. "Mister Vimes keeping the city under control?" He grinned.

"Yeah. 'S not easy, having a teenaged kid trying to follow you around all the time. But I guess Young Sam's busy learnin' to be a copper now. Or trying to." Nobby snorted. "He gets up a lot of people's noses, that one. Not as bright as his dad, but thinks he is. Tryin' to reform the system. Vimesy keeps tryin' to shut him up, but he won't. A right pain in the arse." He sucked on his dogend. "Even Her Ladyship can't keep him under control."

"I thought he was going to study – uh, animal stuff?" Denmark laughed as he found the delicate euphemism for Young Sam's previous interest in excrement. "But if he's a teenager now, then, yeah, that was a long time ago. Lots of time to change his mind."

"Being a copper gets the girls," Prussia added. "Not so easy to get a date when you smell like elephant shit."

Romano laughed. "No shit." All his friends smirked at that.

Nobby's eyes unfocused and he stuck the dogend behind his ear before patting his various pockets. "Hold on. Got somethin' here – " Eventually he pulled out something that looked like a flat metal box, about the size of a cell phone. They could hear a tinny knocking sound coming from it.

"What's that?" Prussia asked, leaning over to peer at it.

"New kind of thing for talkin' to people." The grubby Watchman pried the lid off the box to display a tiny imp, breathless and irritable, who had apparently been banging on the underside of the lid with an even tinier rock.

"Oi," the imp scowled. "Been banging for two minutes!"

"What's that thing? A – a gnome?" Romano leaned forward and peered at the imp, who recoiled. The box was furnished – if it could be called that – with a tightly-folded handkerchief that must have been a bed for it.

"I am an Advanced Communications Imp!"

"What does that mean?"

"Well," Nobby told him, leaning back against the bridge railing, "some bugger at the University discovered that imps can talk to each other even when they're far apart."

"Or suffocating in metal boxes!" the imp squeaked angrily.

"So now all us Watchmen have 'em. We can talk to each other faster. Y'open the box, tell the imp what you want to say, and then he tells his mate, who opens their box and tells your friend whatever you want to say!"

"Unless they're trapped in a box, mister!"

"Yeah, all right, all right, Ted. What's going on?"

"All Officers, Treacle Mine Road!"

"Really? Haven't had one o'them in a while." Nobby pushed himself up and smacked the lid back on the imp's box, ignoring the tiny squeaking that resumed. "Got to go, gents. Have a nice trip! And – say hi to the personificatatation of the Disc for me, will you?" He gave England a wink and ran.

"Nobby, huh?" Den said, staring after him. "I would have thought Vimes was the personification of the city."

England nodded and gestured along the street; they began walking again. "You'd be forgiven for thinking that. A lot of people in our world think so. But Vimes is honest and loyal, if a bit of a bastard, and if you think about Ankh-Morpork, that doesn't really go with the image. Nobby is exactly like the city – dirty, greedy, smarmy…impressionable…"

"Kesesese! I'll say. Give me the hand sanitizer, Arthur."

He rummaged in the rucksack and eventually brought it out. Gilbert liberally squirted his hands with it, rubbing them together, and England replaced it, shouldering the bag once more.

"So, where are we going now, bastard?" The crowds were thinner here. Still no golems, though.

England gestured towards the Tower of Art. "Unseen University. If you want to meet the personification of the Disc, we'll need their help."

"It's not Ridcully, is it?" Prussia burst out laughing. "That would be amazing."

"Ridcully's getting old," England pointed out sadly, instead of answering the question. "He's still doing a good job as Archchancellor, but he's near ninety now, and ten years from now he may start to lose it. I'm not sure how well we'll find him, or the other wizards."

Den laughed and stretched. "Maybe all that jogging keeps him fit."

"Maybe you should box with him, bastard. I read that he went two rounds with Detritus once."

"I'm not a boxer, my friend. Even if I was, I don't know the Marquis of Fantaillier rules." The Viking shrugged.

"Pfft. Not that different from Queensberry," England replied, "though I don't think we want to sit around and watch you pummel the Archchancellor."

"Kesesese! I'd pummel him!"

"No, you won't," his friends chorused.

"Why not?"

"Because we're not here to beat people up! Wanker. Come on, let's get in there." The island nation gestured them through the main gate.

"Hello, Mr. Arthur," Modo called from the rose garden. England raised a hand and waved, but they continued towards the intricate front doors.

Before they reached the top step, Ridcully himself came out to greet them. "Gentlemen! A little birdie told me you'd be here today!" He took England's hand and shook it fiercely; the blond grinned and pumped back.

As he performed the introductions, he noticed that Ridcully and Denmark were trying to outdo each other with powerful handshakes. Hah. He just hoped the Archchancellor wouldn't try that with Romano. His friend's hand would be crushed!

But Ridcully seemed to understand that, and shook Romano's hand politely (pretending not to notice Den rubbing his knuckles in the background), and then laughed as Prussia gave him the Awesome Grin and tried to crush his hand. "Nice to meet you all."

When Prussia finally let go, England snorted quietly to see Ridcully rubbing his hand behind his back. "Fine day, Archchancellor. University doing well?"

Ridcully gestured them into the building. "Come in, do. Yes, everything's fine. Had a bit of a problem with the Bursar last week, but it's all been straightened out." He cleared his throat. "Turns out the fella's been faking this insanity all these years, just to get his hands on the dried frog pills. Turned into quite an addiction. Librarian's been good with the poor chap, though. Should have him back on his feet and at his post in another year or so."

He led them into a large room ringed with buffet tables. These tables were laden with food, and the chairs in the room filled with sleeping wizards. "University's finest," the Archchancellor said with a scowl. Several pairs of eyes opened up, looked at the head of the University, and hurriedly squeezed closed again.

"Kesesese! Will you introduce us? I want to meet them all."

"When they wake up. Why don't you blokes get yourself something to eat, and we can sit over here and talk?"

The nations, a little worried, headed to one of the tables. "Is this going to be weird food shit?" Romano wondered.

"No. It's mostly like English food." The island nation had eagerly begun piling things up on a plate, and hadn't noticed his three friends looking at each other in dismay. "What? What?" he asked, when none of them had made a move to fill a plate. "Gits. Just get something to eat, if you're hungry, and don't, if you're not. Romano, there's coffee over there."

The brunet nodded at him and went to the coffee urn; Prussia and Denmark shrugged and picked up plates.

When they'd all sat down, with only Ridcully having joined them, the Archchancellor beamed and began eating pie. "Well, my friends? What is it that we can help you with today?"

With a nervous look at the other nations, England leaned closer to the big man. He didn't know whether his friends had read about this, and didn't know whether they might freak out. But they _did _want to meet the personification of the whole Disc – "We'd like you to perform the Rite of AshkEnte."

…

_I know a lot of people (dA artists, FFnet writers) think Vimes should be the personification of A-M, but I never really thought he'd do. He's too straightforward. But Nobby seems right, to me, somehow._

_Stay tuned. The next chapter is the only one I'm significantly revising from the first time around._


	90. Ankh-Morpork II

_When I first wrote this chapter, "Raising Steam" had not yet been released, so this is a revision from the previous update (which, probably, nobody remembers anyway)._

…

**Ankh-Morpork II.**

_"What?"_ Romano screeched and leaped out of his chair so fast that it fell over. Den and Prussia each grabbed an arm and held onto him as he struggled to get away. "You want to summon _Death?"_

England and Ridcully ignored this, continuing to talk in low tones, although the sleeping wizards, as one man, had awakened and made a rush for the door. The noise level escalated as they bottlenecked, trying to shove each other's bulk out of the way.

"Stop it, you chaps," Ridcully said quietly, and with a wave of his hand the door glowed red. All the wizards backed off and sat sheepishly back down, nervous eyes on the Archchancellor.

"You can't be serious," Romano said to England. "You _can't_. Death? You're insane." His breath grew labored, but Prussia held on to steady him.

Denmark leaned over and righted Romano's chair. "I don't mind," he grinned.

Prussia nodded agreement and let go. "If that's who it is, that's who it is."

Ridcully rose. "Well, everyone's awake, might as well get it done now. Push these tables back. Runes, go get some mouse blood."

England rose too. "It's not what you think," he told Romano reassuringly. "Help move the tables."

"I must protest, Archchancellor!" The Lecturer in Recent Runes fluttered his hands as he defied the powerful Ridcully. "Are we merely showmen? Performing monkeys?"

Several wizards looked around warily at that, but apparently the Librarian was not within earshot. "I have to agree," Stibbons added. "The University is not a sideshow."

"Whose door says 'Archchancellor,' Stibbons? I believe it's mine. Now, all this waffling isn't getting the job done. Go get the blood, Runes."

"I actually have some right here." The Senior Wrangler fished in one of the pockets of his robe.

"What on earth for?" Dr. Hix took the vial from his hands. "Even in Post-Mortem Communications we don't need to carry mouse blood around."

"It's – I just – just –"

"Never mind. Give me that." Ridcully snatched it from Hix and turned back to the guests. All the tables had by now been pushed back, and there was a large cleared space in the center of the floor. "Right, gents. Let's all stand around the edges here."

Reluctantly the wizards shuffled into position. Den, Prussia and England stepped lively, and the island nation had to drag the quaking Romano, but eventually everyone was ready. "Wait," Prussia said. "Which way is north?"

"There is no real north," England told him. "Because it's a disc."

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Okay, well, just pretend the Archchancellor is magnetic north, and stand in our compass positions."

His friends rolled their eyes, but did as asked, while the wizards stared in amazement. "Is this a sort of magic ritual of your land?" Rincewind asked politely, one eye on the door.

"Kesesese! You could say that. It keeps us oriented." Prussia winked at Romano, and the Archchancellor began the spell.

Seconds later the inside of the makeshift circle glowed, and a figure materialized. All the nations closed their eyes against the brightness. A collective sigh of relief from the wizards, however, eased the tension immediately.

"What exactly is the meaning of this?" they heard, in tones that sounded decidedly un-Death-like. Denmark opened his eyes and saw – _aha._ No wonder England had said 'It's not what you think.' Susan Sto Helit stood in the center, extremely angry, and shaking a finger at Ridcully. "If this is your idea of a joke –"

"It's not," England said to her, and she turned to where he stood. "Please forgive us. Just a little showing off for my friends."

Susan lowered her threatening index finger and tried to calm down. "Nice to see you again, Arthur."

"Likewise. You look as striking as you did last time I saw you." England began to perform the introductions, starting with Romano, so Den had some time to spare observing her. She looked just as he would have imagined from the books, where she'd been very thoroughly described – although her current outfit of brown overalls and an oversized checked red and black shirt didn't seem to go with the image. Perhaps she'd been gardening. Her famous hair was back in a tight bun, although it had begun to slip from its pins already.

When England finally got around to introducing him, Denmark smiled brightly, almost flirtatiously. She was a very beautiful girl, even with the slight irritation still on her face. "This is Mathias Kohler, the personification of a country known as Denmark," the island nation told her.

He held out a hand to her. Mesmerized, she reached out for it, but her fingers struck the inside of the invisible circle and caused a blue electric spark to flash. "Oh. Do forgive me," Ridcully boomed, waving a hand and causing the wall to disappear. Susan nodded at him – one professional to another – and blushed as she reached out to take Denmark's hand.

He'd intended to shake her hand, but instead simply held hers; they gazed at each other (he in delight, she in nervousness) until a "Kesesese!" broke the awkward silence. "Come on! Let's sit and talk!" Prussia ran to a table and began dragging it into its proper place.

Susan seemed to become aware of her current state of dress and let go of Den's hand. "Ah – excuse me, just a moment, gentlemen."

He watched her turn her back, close her eyes; the outfit melted, shifted, to become a lacy black dress; her hair slipped free of all its pins and stood out from her head. It only added to the charm, he thought, as she turned around again, smiling nervously at him. "Beautiful," he murmured, ignoring Romano's snort.

Soon everyone was seated at the long table, including the wizards. "I repeat that it's nice to see you, Arthur, but why have you pulled me here? I was in the middle of cleaning out some attics."

"We wanted to meet the personification of the Disc!" Prussia wiggled in his seat and Den laughed at him a little. "It's so awesome that it's you."

"And not your grandfather," Romano added with a low chuckle. The wizards all nodded feverish agreement.

Denmark noticed that Susan seemed, well, not uncomfortable, but distracted, whenever she looked at him, or talked to him. He stayed mostly quiet, smiling at her, or at his friends, as the conversation flowed, and each time their eyes met, she blushed. Once, he winked at her while she was speaking, and she got completely flustered and lost the thread of her sentence.

After that – when many of the wizards had dropped off to sleep again – she rose. "I do need to get back," she told them, "although it was a nice surprise to meet you all." She blushed again as she gazed up at Den, who had also stood up.

"The Archchancellor told me you live in Ankh-Morpork now," England responded. "Maybe we could escort you home? We did want to see some more of the city."

"Thank you, Arthur. Yes, please."

The group bid their farewells to Ridcully and his faculty and left the University. "Dammit. It really feels like I'm escaping from an actual university! Something about these places always makes me feel little and stupid again."

"You're fine." England patted Romano on the back. "Where do we need to go?" he asked Susan.

"Near the Patrician's Palace," she answered, so they set off in that direction.

"This is _so awesome!_"

"Yeah, you moron. Can't you control it?"

"Aw, Romano, you're always trying to kill my high. Let me be happy! There's not that much for me to be happy about at home, you know."

Before Romano could answer, Susan stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. "Oh, no. Not him again."

Den peered around to see who she meant, but she'd already begun to run down a side street. "Hey!" he yelled.

"I'll be fine! Have a nice visit, Mathias!" she called out, waving merrily as she ran; her clothing slowly changed back to the frumpy outfit she'd had on earlier. "And the rest of you," Susan added as an afterthought, disappearing around a corner.

"That was random," Prussia frowned. "Who the hell was she running from?"

"Cheh, maybe she was tired of your excessive bullshit." Romano laughed and poked him.

"She certainly hadn't tired of Den." England gave him a snarky grin. "Really pouring it on today, weren't you?"

_"Moist!"_ Prussia yelled this before Denmark had to answer.

"Where?" All the others turned to see, and yes…the Man in the Golden Suit strode towards them, a hand outstretched, a small crowd following him. "Wonder what he's up to? Why's everybody following him?"

"Arthur! My good friend, hello." Moist shook the beaming England's hand. All the people around the bank director stopped walking and stared at the nations.

"What's the word, Postmaster?" England then introduced his friends, all of whom shook Moist's hand.

"You are awesome," Prussia told him. "If I could be anybody in Ankh-Morpork it'd be you."

Moist laughed loud and long. "That's quite a compliment, I'd say. Why don't you come with me? We've got something very special to show you."

"Whatever you like! I would like to see anything that the great Moist von Lipwig considered special." Prussia danced in place again, and even Romano laughed at this.

The Postmaster raised his eyebrows. "The _great –? _Don't let Adora Belle hear you call me that. I'll never live it down." To the laughter that followed this, he continued, "Follow me, gentlemen!" Moist strode off, England at his side, with the other three nations now hurrying to keep up.

"Hey, bastard," Romano hissed to Den. "What are all these people doing following us?"

The Dane turned to look. There was indeed quite a crowd, but they simply seemed to be following, not trying to talk to Moist, not interested in the nations. "Beats me. Maybe there's a festival or something."

"Don't let me get lost, all right?"

"Okay. We can stick together. Looks like T. K.'s going to be glued to Moist's side for the rest of the day anyway." They checked on the albino, who was indeed manically speaking with the Postmaster.

In moments the air began to reek. "What the fuck?"

"Phew! Smells like a – oh." Den read the sign outside Harry King's place and understood. "Why on earth is he bringing us here?" he wondered, bending to explain things to his shorter friend.

"This must be the train depot."

"Train depot?" Den scowled. "They don't have trains in Ankh-Morpork."

"They do now, you stupid Viking! Haven't you been keeping up to date? Harry King is like the fucking railroad baron or whatever." Romano elbowed him.

"Ow. No, I didn't read the latest one. Come on, let's catch up to the others." The flow of parading locals had separated them from Prussia, England and Moist by several meters.

"Hey, gits. Wondered where you'd slouched off to." England patted Romano on the shoulder. "Do you know where we are?"

Prussia interrupted. "I can't see anything too special, unless you mean all these vendor's booths. Something celebratory going on?" he asked Moist.

"City's Sesquibiperentennial. Everyone's going a little crazy this year. But that's not what I brought you to see." He turned and gestured with his hand towards Iron Girder, gently chuffing into view.

"_Steam trains!"_ the albino yelled. "Man, I love steam trains. Moist, you are totally awesome." He took the man's hand and shook it enthusiastically. Despite himself, Den checked to see whether he might end up ripping Moist's hand off, and then laughed at himself.

"Don't compliment me. I didn't invent it." The Postmaster pointed towards a young man in greasy overalls. "This is Mr. Simnel's baby."

"Simnel, Simnel," Romano muttered. "I've heard that name –" He stopped abruptly.

But Moist seemed to understand what he meant. "That was the father. The son is quite a bit more careful about things."

"Can we ride the train? Can we? Please, Arthur, please?"

"Sure, if you like. I probably won't bother, but feel free. I ride occasionally at home. We have all those refurbished ones in museums, but just a few that still work after all this time."

"Hsst!" Romano grabbed the blond's sleeve and yanked on it. "Stupid!"

"What? What?"

"Do they know our society is more advanced? You don't want to get in trouble, or upset them by insulting their levels of development," the half-nation went on in a low tone. Den nodded in agreement.

"Oh. Don't worry. Moist knows, and nobody else can hear us, really." They all checked, and indeed, most of the crowd had dispersed, either to shop at the souvenir booths or queue for a ride on the train.

"Well? Can we ride the train?" Prussia persisted.

Romano shook his head. "I don't want to bother."

"What? Why not?"

"Cheh, you idiot. There's a _reason_ all the best cars are made in Italy. We hate taking the fucking train!"

"All right, all right. You and I will go sit over there" – England gestured to a wide, empty platform – "while Gilbert and Den have a ride. Okay?"

"Fine by me, bastard. Now, remember, you two morons. Don't insult the train."

Denmark began laughing loudly. "Insult the train? Like it could understand me?"

But the island nation nodded. "Yes. Remember, there's magic all around, here. Be careful." He and Romano headed for the seating platform.

As Den approached the engine, he scoffed aloud. "Magic steam train, my ass." As soon as he'd said that, Iron Girder let out a puff of steam that zapped him in the ass, and he yelped.

"Kesesese! She knows what you're saying, my friend." Prussia leaped up into the train car.

"Don't be stupid. How can an old hunk of metal understand me?" Den put a foot up onto the step and it promptly collapsed under him.

Dick Simnel came rushing over. "Sorry, sir, sorry; don't know what happened there. Never had that step collapse before." He helped Denmark to rise and then fiddled with the step, whipping a wrench from his back pocket to fix it. In about ten seconds all seemed right. "There you go; step up."

Simnel stood back and Den decided to skip the steps entirely. He took ahold of the support bars on either side of the door, intending to pull himself up and over the steps, and the support bars fell off. "_Fandens!"_ he yelled, flinging them aside, bringing Romano and England over at a trot.

While the engineer blithely reattached the support bars, Den stood fuming and cursing the train in Danish. No damn magic steam train would get the better of him!

But his friends each grabbed an arm and forcibly dragged him backwards, away from Iron Girder, who began softly chuffing along the track. It sounded like laughter. "Let go of me," Den snarled, but the two of them held on tightly.

"No train ride for _you._" Romano laughed and laughed. "Come sit on the stupid platform with us. Didn't I tell you not to insult the fucking train?"

They turned back and saw Prussia's pale hand and arm waving out the window towards them; England let go of the Viking and waved back. "Come on, git. Calm yourself down, and come sit on the seating platform."

He shrugged. Might as well.

So, while the three of them sat and bullshitted (and Romano continually goaded Den about losing a battle of wits with a train), Prussia rode and rode _and rode_ that train. Moist stopped by, but so many people were trying to get his attention that England simply waved him on.

Then Denmark saw someone approaching that he thought he recognized. "Hey! Is that Harry King?" he asked England, who confirmed it.

Great. Maybe talking to the King of the Golden River (so called because his business involved the cleanup of almost every chamber pot and cesspit in the city) would help Den get his mind off that damn enchanted engine. He stood up with a grin, flexing his muscles in the sunlight, and waited for his island friend to perform the introductions.

…

_I have a lot more of this scene, but didn't want to bog down the chapter, so this will be a three-parter. Stay tuned, while Prussia enjoys his very long train ride._

_If you are in fact a Discworld fan, I have a one-shot crossover on my deviantArt account called "Dreams of Ankh-Morpork," in which Switzerland awakens to find himself somehow transported to the Big Wahoonie. It's not a true crossover because everyone he meets is a Hetalia character, not a Disc character._


	91. Ankh-Morpork III

_Three Between the Sheets is an OC. (Not that I expect him to reappear later.)_

…

**Ankh-Morpork III.**

Prussia laughed and rode the train and shook hands with every passenger he could find. Ah, he loved trains; too bad most of his railroad memories were from troop trains in the wars. It felt wonderful to ride along, the wind flapping his white hair, meeting and greeting all these people. "Kesesese!" he chortled, sticking his head out into the rushing air.

Suddenly he felt a tug at his sleeve and turned back to look. Ugh! A scrawny, grimy little – little _being_, he figured, since he couldn't tell its species, stood yanking on his sleeve. "Mister White Person?" the thing asked politely.

"My name is Gilbert," he offered, unsure as to whether or not he should shake hands. Ah, why not, he thought, extending his hand.

The creature took it and pumped it enthusiastically. "Am called Three Between the Sheets. Goblin," it said, bobbing its head up and down.

Double ugh! Goblins saved their own snot and ear wax in little clay pots! Prussia yanked his hand back and wiped it against his shirt. He'd need to remember to get the hand sanitizer again later. "Hiya." He turned back to look out of the window, trying to ignore the goblin, and waved to his friends where they sat chatting with some big fat guy on the platform.

"Gilbert White as Snow," the goblin said. "Liking the rail way?"

'Gilbert White as Snow'? Despite himself, Prussia got intrigued by the little guy's comment. Little _guy_? Little girl? He couldn't even tell! "I love railways," he said with a grin and nod.

As Three Between the Sheets' eyes widened, the albino gulped. _Scheisse!_ This kid probably didn't know what other railways existed. "I, I dream about it all the time," he waffled, trying to cover the awkward moment. Then: "Uh, do people really have to call you 'Three Between the Sheets' all the time? It's cumbersome."

"Don't know cumbersome. Can call me Sheets if you like."

"Kesesese! Okay, Sheets! Do you like the railway?"

"Oh, yes. Work for Mister Moist. Right now trying to invent things, ah, called, you know," the goblin spread his hands out like an advertising banner. "Come ride on the rail way," he stated, as if quoting.

"Oh! Marketing," Prussia nodded. "Yeah. Like interesting things to make people want to come over and take a ride?"

"Yes. Gilbert White as Snow understands it well."

"There's nothing I don't understand, little ma—uh, little goblin." Whoops. Almost made another mistake there. "What are you thinking of using? Posters, or what?"

"Posters, yes, words in paper of news, also. Mister Moist thinks a picture of something but not Iron Girder. Didn't know what else to use."

The albino picked up on this quickly. "'Didn't'? You mean you do know something, now?" He looked out and waved at Romano again; the brunet wearily gave him the finger.

"Indeed yes! Show people that rail way is clean! No dirt on clothes." Sheets gestured to Prussia.

"My clothes are filthy! But they were like this when I left home," he explained. "Not from the railway."

"Not a problem. Mister Moist find white clothing for you. Then take picture, Gilbert White as Snow riding the rail way and not being dirty! People then understand and more will ride."

"Kesesese! You're kidding me, right? Model for railway ads?" Hah, wait until Den heard about this one! He laughed again, while Sheets stood staring at him earnestly.

"Why not? Gilbert White as Snow seems a handsome man, good like Mister Moist. But cannot use Mister Moist in marketing. Gold suit not show up well on paper."

Prussia nearly jumped up and cheered. Handsome like Moist! How awesome.

Of course, Moist _was_ known for having a rather forgettable face, which is why he wore the Golden Suit all the time. Did that mean Prussia was forgettable too? Hell, no. "So, you want me to be in marketing pictures?" he asked again, with a big grin, just to clarify.

"Yes, please. Will speak with Mister Moist when Iron Girder stops. Will Gilbert White as Snow do it?"

"Yes, I will!" A model in Ankh-Morpork! That even beat advertising Danish Summer Tourism. He'd have to crow about this to Romano for quite a long time. 'Romano Dark as Dirt,' he thought, with a snort.

When Sheets leaped off the moving train to go find Moist, he thought about the Danish modeling session. They hadn't done any of that this year. He'd have to ask Den about it later.

Iron Girder finally drew to a slow halt, and passengers began to reluctantly shuffle off the train. Prussia hopped down, avoiding those treacherous steps (just in case the train understood he was the best friend of the insulting Denmark) and practically collapsed into Moist's arms. "Hey!"

"Hey yourself," the Postmaster laughed. "Did you understand what Three Between the Sheets was talking about?"

The albino shrugged. "Kind of. Some kind of advertising campaign?" He decided to play it modest here, in case he'd misunderstood, or in case Sheets didn't have the real clout to make such a thing happen.

"Yes! It's quite brilliant, actually." Moist put his arm around Prussia's shoulders and led him on a little walk around the compound; Sheets trailed them anxiously. "He'd like to put you into stark white clothing – evening dress, or at least a white suit – and have iconographs taken of you riding the train. Even though the railway does have the word 'Hygienic' in it, people still worry they're going to get all dirty from the coal smoke and ash. If we could show someone all in white – and who better than you, my pale new friend – riding it, and not getting dirty, it would impress a lot of people."

"Wouldn't they just think the ph—iconographs were staged? I mean, some guy in a white suit could just stand there while the train wasn't moving."

Moist laughed at him. "You're forgetting this is Ankh-Morpork. There will be loads of people actually watching, and the word will spread that it was real. Will you do it? We'll pay you."

"Pfft. What would I do with Ankh-Morpork money?"

"I'll open a bank account for you. Then if Arthur brings you back, you'll have the money."

"That's cool, but what about the white suit idea? This is all I brought with me," and Prussia gestured to his grubby clothes, grinning as he thought of his neon pink underwear.

"Not a problem. Spike knows several golems working at the Seven Dollar Tailor's, and they can probably have a suit here within the hour. Do you think your friends are willing to stick around that long?"

"Hah! They will be, once I've explained. Plus they did want to see a golem. What were they doing all this time, anyway?"

"Talking to Harry King, mostly. I tried to spend some time with them, but my time is in demand and goblins keep coming to discuss ideas." Moist steered them back towards the crowds. "Let me send a runner to Spike, and she can come back with a golem to take your measurements. Then we can get the suit sorted. Meanwhile, why don't you go explain to your friends?"

"It's a deal." The two flamboyant men shook hands. Moist collared a street urchin to give him a message for his wife, while Prussia sought out his friends on the platform.

…

Two hours later, Moist and Three Between the Sheets were very happy with the new advertising campaign. They'd decided to give the pale passenger his own marketing name, creating a character called Gilbert Snow who toured on the Hygienic Railway and stayed pristine all the way to the end of the line.

Romano, England and Den had tried to be calm about all this, but the Viking was still fuming about the stupid train (which appeared to adore Prussia, since he really hadn't gotten a single speck of dirt on him even in the white suit), and Romano simply felt bored. "Will that moron ever shut up? I'm hungry and want to go home."

"Amen to that," Den snarled in response. At a distance, they watched Moist peel off some bills from a roll in his pocket, and then saw Prussia (back in his dirty duds) count them. "He's never going to shut up about all this." Then they saw their friend hand the money back to the Postmaster.

"Throw him in the Ankh." England, lying on his back on the seating platform, offered this lazy suggestion as he glanced that way.

"Hah, he'd just walk to the riverbank and get out." Romano sat and cradled his head in his hands.

"Right, I've had enough, and it looks like the git is done. We can go now." England rose and cupped his hands around his mouth, startling some people and pigeons nearby. "Oi, _Gilbert!_ Shift your arse!"

"Kesesese!" floated back to them. "Give me a minute." He shook Moist's hand, but then they lost sight of him in the crowd near the vendor booths.

"Let's get a place cleared." The island nation directed Den and Romano to push the locals back, making enough room for them to stand. He scooped up the rucksack and pulled the candle out of it just as Prussia reappeared.

"Ready to go! Man, what an awesome day."

"It wasn't that bad," Romano agreed. "Mostly because I didn't have to listen to your blabby bullshit."

England sighed. "Oh, quit it, the pair of you. Stand around the candle."

Before they could transport away, Moist hurried back up to say goodbye. Prussia shook the man's hand once more. "Thank you again. It was awesome to meet you."

"You're more than welcome. Thanks for helping with the ads, and take care on the trip home, all of you."

The area seemed more crowded than before, but eventually all four of them bunched together and stood appropriately, with the city's denizens loitering around them. England lit the candle and set it on the cobblestones. Passersby backed up further, perhaps wondering what would happen, and the travelers blipped back home.

…

Den and Romano both felt a little shaky when they arrived back in the Sanctum. "Where the hell's the albino potato?"

"That _bloody wanker!_ Listen. I have to go get him. You two, stay here."

"Do we have to stay in the circle?" Den wondered.

"No. Just don't leave the room; get some water from the sink in the corner. Two glasses. That _git!" _England lit the candle and vanished again with a muttered oath.

"What could have happened to him?"

"Beats me, bastard. He was standing right there with us." Romano rubbed his shoulder. "Dammit. This never hurt before, but today it does."

"Well, if you were holding onto Prussia and he didn't come back, that would yank your arm a bit, I guess." Denmark headed to the sink for the two glasses of water.

By the time he came back to Romano's side, England and Prussia had reappeared in the circle, Prussia with a bloody nose, and England apparently in mid-tirade. "—_bloody selfish _idiot!"

"Arthur, I'm sorry! I had no idea!" The albino saw Den holding the water and grabbed one, gulping it all down; England did likewise, and then threw a towel to his friend to mop up the blood.

Romano scowled at Prussia. "What the fuck did you do?"

"The git tried to bring something back with him. Didn't I tell you? When they had Den's axe in Oz? We can't leave anything there, and _we can't take anything away!"_ England shoved Prussia right out of the circle. "Tosser."

"Ow, listen, I said I was sorry, all right?"

"Let me guess," Den laughed. "Ankh-Morpork souvenir spoon?"

"Kesesese! You got it, my friend."

Romano didn't understand. "B-but what the fuck happened? Why didn't you come back, and the spoon stay there?"

"Because he was holding it in his hand. If it had been in a pocket, or the rucksack or whatever, it could have stayed. Oh, bugger. It's just a law of magic, all right?" The angry island nation shooed them all upstairs. "Wash up, Gilbert, and go home. I've got a massive headache from all this."

"Want me to go too, bastard?"

England flicked his eyes to each of them in turn. "Please. I'm going to be miserable company for the next day or so. I'll give you a call. Let's take a break from all this for a while."

By now everyone was in the foyer. "All right, idiot. Rest up and try to forget it all." Romano gave him a brief hug. "See you at the meeting next week."

"Yeah, and thanks, though," Den added. "It was cool to see the place, meet some of the people, except for that stupid train." The others all laughed a little.

"And me! I'm a model once again," Prussia said dreamily.

"A model with a fucking bloody nose, you idiot." Romano grabbed the annoying albino and dragged him out the door; Den followed with a final wave to their host.

…

_In the original chapter, England was so fed up by this point that he worked some spells to erase their memories (except for a lingering fondness for these magical worlds), but since I'm going to keep this open-ended, that has been removed._

_Regarding "Gilbert White as Snow" – look up "Phoebe Snow (character)" on Wikipedia to read about the inspiration._

_So, we will all be taking a break from magical worlds for a while. I got a good 'real world' suggestion from a reviewer which I will be exploring in the next chapter._


	92. Wife-Carrying I

_This topic was recommended to me by reader RaisinContradiction. You can read about the premise on Wikipedia; it's a Finnish thing. Enjoy!_

…

**Wife-Carrying I.**

"Right, dammit, I'm ready for this." Romano cracked his knuckles and lifted England up in the air a little, holding him around the middle. Both of them were dressed in sports clothing; Romano had light hiking boots on, while his boyfriend sported barefoot running shoes.

Amazed, Denmark (shirtless in running shorts and flip-flops) laughed at this. "You've got to be kidding me! _You?_ Give me a break. England, you two are going down."

"Kesesese! Especially because I've been training for months. West rigged up a structure for me, like a robot, to practice with. It's just the same size and weight as Den! We're totally going to win!" Prussia posed heroically.

Romano snarled at him. The bastard was wearing a shirt that was too tight. To show off his abs? Why the fuck was the albino potato going to be the husband anyway? Before he could ask this, England spoke. "Shut it. Don't you have any sense of good sportsmanship?"

"No shit. Shut up, you nasty bastards." Despite his fierce words, the brunet was a little worried. Many nations had chosen to enter this one-off wife-carrying race (Finland had organized it to make up for the failed art competition). The rules? Simple. Carry your partner through the obstacle course. Fastest couple wins.

But for some unknown reason, Romano (in a totally sober moment) had demanded to be the "husband" and carry England through the obstacle course! He must have been insane. How the _fuck_ were they supposed to win? How, in fact, could they even complete the course, without falling over and looking like idiots? True, the course wasn't even 1/5 of a mile, but he really didn't think he could carry the blond bastard all that way without stumbling and falling, no matter how much England had been dieting. He sneaked a peek at his friend, who stood to the side, worrying and biting his lip.

Romano knew he should have caved. England was a very strong nation and could easily support him for this short race. But once he'd demanded it, he couldn't let himself back down. So they'd practiced, and practiced, and practiced. They'd done all right during the practices, too, but he couldn't ignore the fear in his heart. The other competitors were bound to put Romano off his stride. Imagine if they had to race against Cuba!

Who else had entered, besides Prussia and Den? He scanned the area and saw Germany and Veneziano, of course (no prizes for guessing which of _them_ would be the wife!), Poland and Lithuania, Iceland and Liechtenstein. The so-called "hero" and fucking Belarus; hah, that was a couple and a half! Guess America hadn't been too torn up about his breakup with Romano. And Russia and China stood off to the side of the field, hugging and flirting, as if they didn't even know a race was imminent.

Others he could see, but couldn't tell how they were paired up. "Hey," he said aloud, poking Prussia, who was nearest. "Who is Netherlands paired with?"

"Beats me." The albino ran over to Finland and took his clipboard. "Let me see the list, okay?"

Sweden was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he was pissed that he and Finland could once again not compete? Romano rested his chin on England's shoulder while they waited for Prussia to come back with the intel. "You're seriously ready?" the blond asked, smiling.

"Yes, bastard, I'm seriously ready. You don't think I've spent the last three weeks fucking around getting drunk and watching soap operas, do you? No. Even when you were busy, I was out training. We're – uh, well, maybe we're not going to win the whole deal, especially with Den and the albino potato competing, but we'll do all right. I refuse to embarrass myself in front of all these morons." Romano squeezed his hand.

Denmark had sneaked up behind them during the last sentence. "In front of Germany, you mean? Hah. The only way you'll beat Germany is if your brother does the carrying and makes Germany be the wife!" Both he and England began howling at the mental image this produced, while Romano's scowl deepened.

"He won't," he snapped out, when they'd settled. "There's no fucking way."

The Viking shrugged. "People would probably say that about you and England, too, and yet you're going to carry him."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever." Before he could get too worked up, Prussia returned.

"Kesesese! Some weird-ass couples here today. Romania with Monaco, and Switzerland with Cameroon, and Turkey with Ukraine. India with Belgium! Seriously, these are some weird, weird couples." He took a deep breath. "I hope we don't race against Turkey and Ukraine. I want to watch that one. Hah."

"Pig," Romano said automatically, but his heart wasn't in it. He was getting more and more nervous as the time approached to start! "I just hope England and I can race early. The more I have to stand around watching, the more nervous I'm going to be."

"Don't be nervous." Before Den could say any more, Finland blew the whistle and gestured everyone to the starting line.

People were still babbling as they approached, so Finland blew the whistle again. "Shut up, everyone!" he called out.

It didn't do much. Then Sweden appeared, in bright pink athletic clothing. "SHUT 'P."

Everyone shut up.

Finland cleared his throat delicately. "All right. You know the rules. Two teams will race at the same time, and will be timed. We have a big board posted for the top three finishers and Latvia will be keeping that up-to-date as each race finishes. But only the top team will win the prize!"

"What's the fucking prize _this_ time, I wonder," Romano muttered, sliding his eyes to his boyfriend with a smirk.

"Not a box of chocolates, I'm guessing," Prussia hissed at him. "Now shut up."

…

First heat: Cameroon with Switzerland, and America carrying Belarus. "Why is she holding a bag?" Den wondered. "That's just going to slow him down."

"Hah. Bloody git just wants to show off that he can carry her and win even with extra weight added."

Prussia cleared his throat. "No, they probably have to do that. If the 'wife' doesn't weigh enough, she has to carry extra weight to make it to the minimum."

"You're _kidding!"_ All his friends turned to him – Den laughing, but the other two acting worried.

"No, not kidding. Didn't you read the rules? Why? What's worrying you?"

"I've been dieting," Arthur moaned. "To make it easier for Romano."

"What's the fucking weight minimum?"

"Forty-nine kilograms."

"Oh. No worries." Arthur and Romano blew out identical sighs.

Prussia tilted his head to the side, considering. "That's kind of surprising, though. Belarus doesn't look that skinny."

"Shh! If she hears you say that, bastard, you are _dead."_

"Kesesese! Yeah, you're right. I'll shut up now."

And he did. The race was close, but Cameroon beat the hero, who began whining and generally acting like a child. "How bloody typical," England sneered, before watching Belarus pull out a knife and begin slashing angrily at the weight bag.

"Get off the course!" Finland yelled, and Sweden, his enforcer, went to drag America and his quarreling "wife" away from the course.

Latvia put the top two finishers on the big billboard; America and Belarus would remain in second until someone displaced them. The friends could hear her vicious bickering all the way across the field, where they waited with the others to see who would be next.

Second heat: "Pick me, pick me," Romano moaned quietly, but Finland announced Turkey and Ukraine versus Prussia and Denmark.

"Wish us luck, guys!" Prussia gave Arthur a showy kiss on the cheek and received one in exchange before heading to the starting line.

"Well, you didn't get your wish," Den laughed as they took their positions. "You won't be able to watch them."

Turkey overheard this as he shouldered Ukraine in the famous "Estonian carry." "Ha ha!" that nation boomed, for once without his mask. "You _can_ watch! We'll be ahead of you the whole time!"

"Get ready," Finland warned sternly, so Prussia scooped Den up in a fireman's carry and prepared to run the course. "Set…go!"

The participants ran off. Prussia had indeed trained well, and he bounded along through the obstacles, loudly "kesesese"-ing and knowing they were going to win. "Go, T.K., go!" Den yelled enthusiastically, pounding on his back.

"Stop hitting me!"

While he was distracted, Turkey and Ukraine passed them. "Shit!" Den yelled, and started pounding again.

Prussia couldn't let them win. He'd assumed Ukraine's bouncing would be a problem – and that was half the reason he'd wanted to watch – but due to the style of carry, she wasn't bouncing at all, and they were making good time. The albino put on a burst of speed, forcing himself and Den through the water obstacle. The finish line loomed before them, but the other pair was keeping pace. They had to win! Imagine how much shit Romano would give them if they let Turkey win! "Stop _hitting me,_ Denmark!" he yelled, totally out of breath, and lunged desperately towards the finish line, hoping something would trip Turkey up before he could get there. "I want to wiiiiiin!"

…

_Stay tuned. _


	93. Wife-Carrying II

**Wife-Carrying II.**

"Hang on, Den," Prussia wheezed out, gripping his friend more tightly. "I'm gonna long-jump to the finish!"

"_Whaa-"_

But the albino leaped through the air – it was the only way he could hope to catch and pass Turkey at this point – and the two of them, locked together, flew over the finish line to land in a heap.

"Damn you, T. K.," Den groaned from underneath him somewhere. "Did we win?"

Prussia pushed himself up onto his hands and knees and peered back to see Turkey and Ukraine floundering at the end of the water obstacle, and Romano and England jumping up and down cheering. "We did! Check it out!"

The Dane turned to see the soaking opponents clambering to their feet, several feet before the finish. "Awesome," he wheezed, peeling his flip-flops from his feet.

"Get off the course!" Finland called out, so all four of them made their way to the side of the course, laughing; Prussia gave the sopping Ukraine a big hug, and she managed a little laugh.

"That's actually a pretty tough race," Turkey admitted. "Wish I'd known; we could have practiced."

"You didn't practice at all?" Prussia explained about his robot practice dummy.

"Hah, no, Ukraine didn't even ask me until this morning, but I figured we could do it."

The albino and Denmark looked at each other with raised eyebrows, but didn't say anything until they'd reached their friends. "Kesesese!"

"You beat bloody America, anyway," Arthur laughed, pointing to the scoreboard, where their names had bumped America and Belarus down to third.

"We are so awesome." Prussia did a little dance move as they stepped back to see which couples would race next.

…

Third heat: Iceland with Liechtenstein, and Bulgaria carrying Estonia. "This one is pointless," Romano muttered. "Bulgaria's a very strong bastard."

"Pfft," Den laughed. "Turkey's a strong bastard, and look what happened to him!"

"Besides," Arthur pointed out, "Liechtenstein is pretty lightweight."

"Kesesese! Wonder if they'll make her carry the weight bag?" They all turned to look, but apparently Liechtenstein weighed more than 49 kilograms. "Okay, so, well, this could be pretty even. Maybe."

Romano poked him. "Let's just watch and see."

"Five Euros says Bulgaria wins," Den added predictably.

"Not taking that bet, bastard."

But Prussia shook his hand. "I will. Five Euros on Iceland."

While England rolled his eyes, the four of them turned to watch the race. Iceland zoomed ahead right at the start, and Prussia began crowing about it, but eventually Bulgaria caught and passed them, and won.

"Five Euros," Den snarked, holding out his hand.

"Well? Do you think I have it in my running shorts? Kesesese! I'll pay you later, somehow," he said, waggling his eyebrows.

Romano turned away from this. "Anyway, I told you Bulgaria would win."

They watched as Finland and Sweden conferred over the clipboard. "America and Belarus remain in third place," the host announced. "Bulgaria and Estonia won their heat but did not beat their time."

England tapped Romano on the shoulder. "I want to beat that wanker."

"Who, America?" The brunet's expression grew panicked. "Uh, well, my goal, you know, my goal is to do the best I possibly can, you know that, bastard. So, I'll do my best."

"That's all we can ask."

…

Fourth heat: India/Belgium versus China and Russia. To everyone's (_everyone's_) amazement, Russia was the wife! "How the fuck is that even possible?" Romano wondered.

"Five Euros on India," Den retorted.

"No way, bastard."

"T. K.? England?"

"No thanks, Den. That's a total easy win."

England nodded in agreement and they turned to watch the race.

"See why I didn't make that damn bet?" Romano said, poking Denmark, as they watched China struggle to hoist Russia onto his shoulders. "I bet they don't even make it to the water obstacle."

"Now that bet I'll take," Prussia laughed, shaking his hand. "Five Euros says China and Russia get to the water obstacle before collapsing."

"Deal. Now shut up."

In a very few seconds Romano had won his five Euros; China had only gone about ten steps before collapsing under his lover's weight. The two of them lay giggling in the sand, ignoring Finland's agitated yelling.

"You're going to go broke…again…Gilbert," the island nation pointed out, grinning at the sight of his two old allies having so much fun in the sand.

"Nah, I'll win it back on the next couple of bets. Did India beat America?" They all turned to Finland, who looked up at Latvia at the billboard and shook his head _no._ "Huh. Well, okay, Romano, it's all up to you! Kesesese! You have to awesomely beat America's time so we can all be in the top three."

"Bastard. You are _such_ _a fucking_ _bastard!"_ Romano wanted to kick the stupid albino potato, but he needed to conserve his energy for the race. "I just wish they'd let us race! I'm getting all antsy."

"Calm down, _mio scuro._ We'll race when we race." England petted his hair like he was a cat, and Romano smiled sweetly at him.

"Next! Romano and England versus Germany and Veneziano!"

"Awesome," the brunet grinned evilly. "Bet on us, bastard," he said to Den, poking him, as the two of them made their way to the starting line.

"Let's get the wives weighed," Finland told them cheerfully, gesturing England onto the scale. "Sixty-eight kilograms. You're fine."

The blond and Romano moved off while Veneziano got on the scale. "Sixty-eight, bastard? You really have been dieting!"

"Git. Didn't want to make it difficult for you. I admit I feel a lot weaker this way. Glad you'll be doing all the work."

"Don't worry, _biondo._ I'll carry you safely, even if we don't beat the stupid macho potato." As he said this, he realized there was some kind of commotion behind them. "What the fuck's going on?"

They turned back to see the others arguing with Finland. "Sorry, Veneziano; you don't weigh enough."

"Well? Let him carry the weight bag," Germany pointed out. "You permitted Belarus to do so."

"Where is that weight bag anyway? _Sweden! _Where's the weight bag? Veneziano is underweight."

Sweden shook his head. "No bag."

"What do you mean, 'no bag'? Belarus had it. Remember?" The shorter blond poked his boyfriend with the pencil that was tied to the clipboard.

"_Had_ it. R'member? Sh' cut it up. Was filled w'th beans. All th'beans ran out. No bag." Sweden spread his hands apologetically.

With a shrug, Finland turned back to the competitors. "Well, then you can't compete, I'm sorry. Rules are rules."

"Ve, wait a minute, Finland! Germany could be the wife, right?"

Romano laughed so loudly that he nearly fell over, bracing himself against England. "Jesus Christ, what a dumbass," he wheezed. Even England was fighting a smile.

Germany, however, did not seem amused. "Italy, you know you cannot carry me through an obstacle course like this one!"

"Oh, Germany, ve, you're just saying that because you don't want to be the wife. Go on, Finland, change it around so I'm the husband and Germany is the wife, ve." Veneziano beamed at everyone.

"Shit," his brother muttered to England. "I'm going to be laughing so hard I won't be able to race!"

"Focus, loverboy. This ought to be an easy win, at least."

"Yeah, I got it. Just don't let me look at them or I'll lose it."

Finland agreed with a shrug. "Germany, do you want to wear a crash helmet?" he asked nicely, earning snorts from everyone within earshot.

The potato bastard sighed. "No. I will brave it."

"Very well! Contestants to the starting line!"

Romano hunkered down so he could pick England up in the Estonian carry, which he'd chosen to use because it had better balance. "Kiss for luck?" the blond whispered.

"Not here, stupid!" His head whipped around to make sure no one had heard that.

"Oh, okay," England agreed, as Romano scooped him up. "I'll kiss you back here!" He patted his friend's ass and Romano nearly dropped him before hearing the happy English laughter. "Sorry. Couldn't resist."

Meanwhile, Veneziano had gotten Germany into an awkward fireman's carry. "V-ve," he struggled to say, "can we go yet, Finland? I'm afraid I'm going to drop him!"

Sweden laughed at this and gave the starting signal. "Ready – set – go!"

Romano ran off, oblivious to everything but the course before him. He too had practiced efficiently, and he scooted adroitly through the sand obstacle, danced through the middle section, and plowed through the water, forging ahead. "Go, Romano, go! They're catching us!" England yelled out.

What the fuck? How the hell could his idiot brother – burdened with the gigantic macho potato – be _catching_ them? He pumped his legs harder, maintaining his hold on the island nation, and pushed himself to the limits of his endurance as they crossed the finish line, where he collapsed and dropped England into the grass. "Well?"

The blond smiled fondly at him. "I knew you could do it. I'm proud of you."

"Yeah, yeah." They held hands briefly before he turned back to see his stupid brother and Germany lying in the sand obstacle! That was all the way back at the beginning of the race! "What the fuck were you talking about? You said they were catching us!"

"Just trying to motivate you a bit, love. It worked, too, didn't it?"

"I hate you." He rose and extended a hand to pull England up, and when they turned back, everyone at the starting line broke into cheers and applause. "What now?"

"Beats me," the blond answered, but almost before he'd finished speaking, they saw Latvia remove the placard for America and Belarus and replace it with one containing their own names. "Bloody hell! You did it!" He picked Romano up and spun him around, laughing.

"_Now_ you can give me that kiss," he demanded, leaning down to suit the action to the words.

"Mm. You're bloody marvelous."

"You too, _biondo bastardo. _Thanks for dieting."

"Pfft."

When they got back to the starting line, Den and Prussia hugged them and clapped them on the back, but Romano tried to stop them. "Hold on, hold on. What the hell happened with my dumb brother?"

"Are you kidding? West fell off about ten feet into the race."

"It wasn't even Veneziano's fault," Den added, "or at least, it didn't look that way. It looked like Germany just slid right off, and he landed face-first in the sand." Romano and England both laughed at that.

"America's not too happy," Prussia then warned them.

England shook his head. "It's Belarus I'm worried about. What if she tries some revenge tactic? Does she still have that knife?"

"She always has that knife! Stay close to me, Arthur. I'll protect you."

"Hah. Protect Romano. I can defend myself."

Den elbowed them. "Shut up and let's see who's next."

"But you were awesome, Romano! Totally awesome!" When the albino potato gave him a hug and a kiss, he didn't even frown. Of course he was totally awesome.

…

_More to come._

_By the way, I have not been keeping up with the anime at all. I watched Seasons 1 & 2 and a few episodes of "Beautiful World," but kind of lost interest after that, which is why you won't see any references to things that happened beyond that point._


	94. Wife-Carrying III

**Wife-Carrying III.**

The four friends sat on the ramshackle bleachers, intently watching every couple who participated, nervously hoping they wouldn't be bumped from the leaderboard. Romania with Monaco gave them a run for their money, laughing and shouting (Monaco also occasionally tooting on a small noisemaker to egg her "husband" on), but in the end, those two didn't do quite well enough to beat England and Romano. "Dammit, dammit," that nation muttered, every time someone strong stepped up to the scales.

Predictably, after every mutter: "Will you shut it? Either we're going to win or lose. Stop all this bloody complaining."

"Kesesese! Den and I won't lose."

"Damn right, T. K. We are the kings of obstacle courses." They did a fist bump and Romano smacked Den in the back of the head.

"You're not _the _kings," England corrected them. "What about Cameroon and Swissy?"

Prussia scoffed. "Never mind Cameroon. He works out all the time; I can deal with him beating us. Nothing to cause a problem."

Australia, Austria, Korea and Taiwan all approached Finland. "Shit. What kind of fucking weird combos are going on here?"

They watched as Austria got weighed. "Who the hell's carrying Austria?" Prussia wondered. "I thought he'd be with Hungary."

"Hah! She's going to carry Seychelles, for some reason." Den nudged his friend.

Even Romano pulled out of his fright to swivel his head and look at the two girls, giggling together at the side of the field. "Bizarre. Do you suppose they're actually dating?"

England laughed. "Who cares? It's not like they can beat you, my heroic husband."

"Ack! Shut up!" Dammit, he could feel himself turning red. Still, at least he hadn't had to be the wife. That was still a relief.

Their attention was drawn back to Fin, who shook his head _no_ repeatedly_._ "Looks like Taiwan's awesomely underweight. We'll win by default at this rate!"

"Would you really want to win that way, albino nuisance?" But something else began to happen that they couldn't quite make out. "Wait – what's going on?"

"I can do it, da ze!" Korea yelled from the starting line. He turned in place and roared out, "Hey, _Vietnam!"_

Everyone turned to look for the girl, who came running. "Hah. He's going to swap wives?" When England muttered this, all his friends burst into laughter.

But it seemed Korea had a different plan in mind. They watched him talk earnestly – yet crazily – to both the girls, and when Finland shrugged, he leaped into the air and cackled with glee. "Th's 's insane," Sweden said, throwing his hands in the air in disbelief and walking away a little distance.

Finland agreed loudly, but nobody else really grasped what was going on until Korea scooped up Taiwan like a baby, and then Vietnam climbed up piggyback! "Holy fucking shit," Romano growled. "He can't be serious."

"Ah, you know Korea, he's a total showoff and clown," Prussia reminded him. "He knows he has no chance of winning, so he might as well make a show of it."

Den added with a grin, "Vietnam makes a hell of a weight bag."

Surprisingly, the heavily-burdened Korea did make it to the end of the obstacle course, but it was several actual minutes after Austria and Australia had finished. (Those two hadn't done very well, either.) "Get off the course!" Finland yelled to Korea, who was still carefully mincing along in the water obstacle, trying not to drop his "wives."

"Give me a minute, da ze! This is really hard!" They could hear Taiwan laughing, and everyone watched as Korea finally stepped across the finish line. Both the girls slid down from him and shook his hand before they all scampered back to the bleachers to sit.

"This is it, then," the albino potato said. "Just one left. France and Spain versus Hungary and Seychelles."

"Hah, wonder which bastard will be the wife?" Romano then spluttered as Spain stepped onto the scale. "That is hilarious. Five – no, _ten_ Euros says they don't make it to the finish line."

England bit his lip. "I don't know. Francy-pants can be fairly strong sometimes."

"Kesesese! So can Spain. He was the most fearsome pirate, you know."

"_What?" _The island nation leaned over and punched Prussia in the face, and soon the two of them were rolling around the bleachers, beating each other up, while Finland called through his megaphone for them to stop. They both ignored this, little sounds of "wanker" and _"Arschloch"_ floating up through the sounds of grunts and pain.

Denmark and Romano scooted back to give them some room to fight. "Five Euros on Prussia."

"You dumb bastard. Ten Euros on England."

"Ten Euros, then." They shook hands.

Nobody else was happy about this fight, though. "Hey, _Angleterre!_ Stop that! We want to race!"

"Race, then, you blasted frog-face!" But the fight went on.

Sweden's voice then boomed out clearly over the PA system. "_Stop fighting, Prussia and England!"_

"Whoa," the albino said, stopping immediately, allowing England's final swing to connect. "Ow."

"Yes, well, just remember who's the bloody fearsome pirate around here, will you?"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry, Arthur."

They hugged and kissed each other with grins, making Romano groan again. These stupid bastards would never quit, would they? Still. "Ten Euros," he smirked to Den.

"Forget it! Nobody won!"

"England threw the final punch. He wins."

"Quit it, the pair of you," the exhausted island nation complained. "_I'll_ pay you the bloody ten Euros."

"Hah. Okay." Might as well take it!

Finland picked up the megaphone again. "Are you all finished?" he rapped out sarcastically.

"Yeah, we're awesomely finished fighting! Kesesese!"

"Okay," Fin called out wearily. "France carrying Spain, and Hungary carrying Seychelles."

Everyone in the bleachers focused. "What about your bet?" England remembered, elbowing Romano.

Shit, yes, he'd forgotten. "Yeah, anybody want to take it? Ten Euros says they don't make it."

Den nodded. "Yeah, I'll take that. Ten Euros, France and Spain make it to the finish line."

"Ten Euros, Hungary and Seychelles beat them?" Prussia offered. "Anyone? Anyone?"

"You're on, git." The two erstwhile combatants shook hands as the race began.

Because this was the last race of the day, all the watching nations chose a side and rose from the bleachers to jump and cheer excitedly. "Go, _France!"_ America yelled out.

"Why's he cheering for France?" Den wondered.

The other three all snorted in unison. "Doesn't want to lose to a girl."

"Makes sense. Besides, Belarus will be super-pissed if Hungary wins. She might beat him up!"

The race continued; everyone yelled a little longer, and it looked as though the two teams crossed the finish line at the same time. "Well? What the fuck?" Romano tried to see the stopwatch that Finland held, but of course the Nordic nation was thirty feet away. "Who won?"

Sweden and his "wife" conferred intently over the clipboard as the four racers came back with perplexed looks on their faces. "What's going on, _amigos?"_

All the nations in the stands fell silent to hear the answer. "Ahem. Well," Finland began, and then stepped up to the microphone to begin again. "These two teams tied exactly, down to the tenth of a second, which is the limit of our stopwatch's accuracy."

"As long as they didn't beat us, we're fine," England told the jittering Romano. "Settle down."

"Yeah, yeah, well, they must have, or there wouldn't be this discussion, would there? Stupid."

"Wanker."

"However," Fin continued, "there is a problem."

"What problem? What?" Korea demanded. "Did they beat my time?" This caused a general outbreak of laughter.

"As you will all recall, Cameroon and Switzerland placed first. They were in the first race, and everyone else came after them. Prussia and Denmark were only one second shy of the Cameroon team's time."

"Yeah, we're so damn awesome!" Prussia yelled, grabbing Den's hands and doing a little dance in the bleachers.

"Stop that, Prussia!" Finland rapped his pencil on the podium. "There's still a problem!"

The capering duo stopped and focused once more. "Okay, what's the problem?" Den sounded kind of laconic about it. "Did these guys beat us?" He waved a hand at the last four racers.

"No! Let me continue. England and Romano matched your time exactly. _Exactly._ Which means they knocked America and Belarus off the leaderboard and these three teams stayed there for the rest of the day. The problem, then, is that four teams all had the very same finishing time. Prussia and Denmark, Romano and England, France and Spain, and Hungary with Seychelles. We will have to have two tiebreaking races."

…

_More to come._


	95. Wife-Carrying IV

**Wife-Carrying IV.**

Dead silence fell over the entire stadium. "I can't possibly do that again," Romano whispered to England. "Not as well as I did before."

"You should be all right. I'm not worried about these four," the island nation gestured, "because they must be exhausted. They just ran the race five minutes ago!"

Apparently the four most recent finishers were making the same argument to Sweden and Finland. "_Mon Dieu, Espagne,_ I love you, but I cannot run that race again! I'm so tired!"

Finland flicked France on the ear with the pencil. "Nonetheless. Rules are rules. You may, however, switch places; Spain can be the husband and you the wife." At this, Hungary and Seychelles started talking to each other in frantic whispers that no one else could hear.

"Will you do that, bastard? Carry me this time? Please?" Romano turned his best puppy-dog eyes on England, who smiled and pecked a little kiss on his cheek.

"I thought you were too bloody embarrassed to be the wife?"

"Pfft. If the tomato bastard can deal with it, then I can too." The brunet leaned against him, and they waited for the decisions to be made.

Meanwhile, Den and Prussia had been arguing with each other in whispers as well. "What's the matter with you gits?"

"I asked Den to be the husband this time. I'm _beat._ If we hadn't been jumping up and down screaming and cheering and fighting all day, I might have been able to do it, but…no."

"Well, Viking bastard? I thought you were so damn strong?" Romano poked him in the abs and nearly broke his finger.

"I am, you little nitwit. But I only have flip-flops with me! I can't run in flip-flops!"

"Wear the albino potato's shoes, stupid."

England nudged him. "I can't believe you're trying to help them. You do know we'll be competing against them, too?"

"Shit. Wear the flip-flops."

"I have to, anyway. My feet are bigger than his."

"Come up to the podium," Finland called out.

The four of them rose. England coughed nervously. "I hope I can do this. I've been dieting so strenuously that I feel a little weak. Not to mention all that fighting with Gilbert."

"You'll be fine," Romano promised, more enthusiastically than he actually felt. "Come on."

Finland weighed all the new wives – all four teams had elected to switch positions – and when Hungary passed without needing a weight bag, he gathered them around. "We cannot run all four teams at once. Therefore, to break things up, we will run Spain carrying France versus England carrying Romano."

The half-nation groaned, but Spain began to preen. "Don't worry, _Francia._ We have this in the bag!"

Romano smirked. "You are a total bastard, Spain. You know England always beats you in everything. _Everything._"

"He wishes," Spain laughed, which almost got England into another fight.

"Contestants, take your positions," Finland barked, to stop this.

France rode piggyback on Spain. "I want to watch us win." He waggled his eyebrows at England, who scowled.

"Shut it, frog-face. Get ready, Romano; I'm going to use the Estonian carry." Romano braced himself and the blond scooped him up adroitly, only staggering a little. "Bloody hell, what have you been eating?"

Their opponents laughed and laughed, and the embarrassed Romano (whose face was now down near England's ass) tried to ignore it and muttered, "Shut the fuck up, all you damn bastards."

Finland gave the signal to start.

As they ran off, Romano desperately wished he'd chosen to ride piggyback. He couldn't stand not knowing what was going on! By looking off to the side, he was able to see the tomato bastard's shoes nearby, but spatially he was all confused and couldn't tell whether they were winning or losing! "Go, bastard, go faster," he moaned out, holding on tightly.

"I'm going," England wheezed. "Stop bitching."

So he shut up, still trying to work out who was winning. Then he heard Spain sing out, "Lovi, if we win, you owe me a date!"

"Fuck that, you stupid tomato head!" he roared. Romano was fuming. _Fuming._ What an absolute dickhead! And he could tell England was angry, too, because he picked up the pace a little.

Apparently the beardy bastard had gotten pretty pissed off, because Spain started yelling, "Ow, _Francia_, stop smacking my ear! Stop!"

Romano felt England put on a last burst of speed and he then saw the finish line pass underneath them. "Did we win?"

The blond collapsed, flopping the half-nation awkwardly into the grass. "Bloody hell. I don't even care."

"Well, I do, stupid!"

But the opponents were not yet at the finish line. He turned back to see them beating the crap out of each other in the water obstacle. "You are so _weak!_" France yelled as he fought. "I cannot believe you dropped me!"

"Why were you hitting me on the ear, _tío? _It's all your fault!"

"Because you asked Romano for a date! _Merde! _I hate you! Hate you, hate you, _hate you!_"

England sighed. "Spain is a brainless wanker."

"Cheh, yeah, well, we knew that already, didn't we?" Romano laughed a little.

Finland had picked up the megaphone again and repeatedly yelled into it, but the fighting bastards didn't stop, and so the weary island nation and his boyfriend plodded back to the podium. "How did we do?" Romano asked Sweden.

"Y'beat them," he answered with a smirk.

The brunet kicked the podium and scowled. "I _know that!_"

"C'lm d'wn. Y'beat your previous time by 1 second."

England smiled tiredly and grabbed Romano's arm to lead him to the seats. "That's good, then. Thanks, Sweden."

Good? _Good?_ Even though they'd won, Romano felt angry now. The weakened, unprepared England had managed to beat _his_ time by a full second, even though Romano had trained nonstop for two months? What a showoffy bastard.

Still, he wasn't going to complain. Now he just hoped they'd beat the other two morons. Possibly Den's flip-flops would be a help there, Romano laughed to himself. "Hey, wait a minute," he suddenly realized with dawning excitement. "If we beat our previous time by one second, we're tied with Cameroon and Swissy now! Holy shit."

"Bugger. Well, I'm not doing _another_ tiebreaking race. Not unless I get to be the wife."

"Dammit, you idiot! You were faster than I was! I should be the wife!"

"Iggy should be the wife," America smirked nastily from behind them. "He's good at that submissive shit."

"You're a tosser, America. You'll notice we beat _you_…both times?" England's expression was just as nasty as the burger bastard's, and Romano (and America) shivered. Dammit, his boyfriend was vicious. Good thing they were dating. He hoped England would never let that evil side out towards _him._

And then he shivered once more, hoping Belarus wasn't listening. He glanced around nervously but she was nowhere in sight. "Where's _your_ 'wife'?" he dared to mock America.

"Pfft. Went home with China and Russia. She was pretty pissed."

Wisely, neither of the others answered that. Romano scanned the bleachers and realized that a lot of people had left. That kind of made sense. If they knew there was no hope of winning, he'd leave too!

They saw that Finland had by now taken the megaphone to the water obstacle, where France and Spain had continued to fight. As they ignored him, he began hitting each of them with it. "Stop fighting and get off the course!"

"I hate you, _Espagne._ I can't believe you let _Angleterre_ win."

"Don't blame this on me!" Spain grabbed the megaphone and hit France in the head, and then flung it angrily into the water.

"_Get off the course!"_ Sweden hollered into the PA system. They ran off the course, still hurling invective at each other.

Dejected, Finland picked up the poor, soaking, fallen megaphone and slouched back to the podium. "Okay," he said weakly into it, after scowling at the clipboard for a while to calm down. "Last race. Prussia and Denmark versus Hungary and Seychelles."

"Loser buys the drinks!" Romano called out to them as Den scooped up his albino wife. Both of them looked back and flashed him a thumbs-up.

…

_Yes, there will be more. I hadn't been able to figure out how to end it, but just realized what to do. Stay tuned._


End file.
